Gimcracks - Law's Collection 8
by Harmonica Smile
Summary: "Law." He glanced at the Phoenix. "What are you doing?" What did it look like? Splitting matchsticks into further matchsticks and putting them back together again. Law coping – or not – with the very many things he needs to cope with. Lawcentric. Bit humor. Law, Robin & Cora's past. Vergo, Doflamingo. Read A/N for warnings. Rape/Non-con elements. Dark fic. Happy ending. Marco/Law
1. Little Match Girl - Red Force

**A/N: Warnings** for references to past sexual assault/abuse. Not graphic, but touched upon.

Read the endnotes for background to the series.

* * *

 **Chapter One: The Little Match Girl**

* * *

"Psycho."

Marco sent his flame over his own body to give him some light, matching the Room Law kept lighting up, and under which he was – what? – splitting matchsticks - with his freaking nodachi - in what might count for the hull of the ship - or a wee, dank, dark cell-like part of it. Marco hadn't known this space even existed.

Did that freak's eyes just flash gold?

"Benn's gonna kill you. He'll kill us all, all of the crews, if he can't find his matches." Bepo shot through with bullets. See if Law could live with that.

Law spliced the wood together again, and then split it. How could he even see the matches in this darkness, and how did he manage to make that massive blade do something so finicky? So exact? How was there even room to swing it?

Marco's haki had crawled every square millimetre of the ship trying to locate this brooding, seething menace. His brooding, seething menace. Apparently. Jeez. What had got into the doc? What had Marco got into? Nothing yet. Not at this stage of the game.

Benn had a lighter anyway, and Marco guessed this was one way to encourage him to give up, but he didn't think that was Law's intention. Was it true then? The Heart ultimately cared only for himself? He was pissed about something now, and he'd take them all down with him? Over matches?

Did it take effort, this fretwork, this lacework, this creation of geegaws and gimcracks, or was it just that it was so dark and cramped that he could hear Law's breath echo throughout the room? Steady, not laboured, but some exertion – concentration perhaps – was in place. As if breath - the turning of bearings under a conveyer belt - motored the whole thing. Rhythmical in a way, almost soothing, if it wasn't so . . . compulsive.

Law had been next to him in bed that morning. Or he'd been next to Law in Law's bed. They'd fucked before as in – not last night before – but in the past before, but they hadn't been something before, so they didn't fuck last night, because they were something now. Weren't they?

And Vergo and Doflamingo hadn't cocked their legs (in lieu of tails) spraying the Red Force with their tom cat repulsiveness at any stage when Law and Marco had got into each other's skin, before. And all of a sudden he now knew more than he probably should know about Law, and here the doc was, slicing up matchsticks. Spooked to kingdom come. Wielding a nodachi. Very precisely.

The Phoenix had used Law to ease the ache of the long absence of Ace from his life, six years now. No-one had replaced him, but in moments they could. And Law was probably feeling the more recent loss of Luffy on those nights. Raw. But it evolved, step by step, beyond the carnal. Law so often closed himself off from all touch anyway – except from some of his own crew – that it was a once in a blue moon mixture of weather and ale that brought them physically together. Before.

But they were beginning something now. They'd spent the night together, Law wanting company after the Don Quixote two jerked off all over him again – figuratively – and Marco wanted to give that company. Shanks had practically ordered him to check up on the doc, but he was going to do it anyway. At Law's request, the Phoenix hadn't touched him, not in that way though they'd gone to bed together. Marco had dropped off in the morning light, and when he awoke Law was no longer beside him.

He sure as hell wasn't joking about needing time if last night was anything to go by. What the fuck? He was a freaking pirate, and pirates took and took and took. Anything between them previously was quick and hurried and Law left as soon as he could. But Marco figured he'd still been processing his break from Luffy – or maybe that's why they broke.

The sex left _him_ feeling pretty empty, but he hadn't sought it out to fill any long-lasting spiritual need. Marco knew he'd probably have been as happy with anyone on the crew. After Ace, there were just some times and it didn't really matter who did the job, except that Law was quiet, discreet and skilled. And pretty to look at. Then after the event they'd proceed with their days as if no semen or saliva had passed between them at all.

And they'd never treated each other badly. Just not that well. Yesterday was something, but at some point last night, in the midst of this beginning, Law shut down. He'd been so happy when Marco had knocked on his door he wasn't sure he'd got the right one. So tentative when Marco had run across him on the deck, wary about what Marco's attention meant, but Marco thought he had accepted that he was there for Law, not for his past.

And then.

Ace was simple.

Despite everything.

Law hadn't moved from the bed like he had in the past – it was his own bed, after all – but he didn't move into contact as he had just before, skin against skin – not even an hour before. Marco lay with an arm slung over his sinewy waist. There'd been a shift in the air. Law didn't escape Marco's touch, but Marco could no longer tell if it was because Law felt he had to be there or he wanted to be.

He felt Law kept himself beside him as an exercise of control. Over his own self. Over his ice cold blood and flight tendencies. A test of trust. He'd kept that stone he'd told him about last night, but they hadn't gone through any of the exercises Law had walked him through. He guessed they weren't at that level yet. Maybe he hadn't needed it.

In this dingy hold now, Law's shirt was discarded in the corner, crumpled on a bench. Not the same one he wore to bed last night. A bundle of fucking confusions, this pirate. Law had pulled a tee over his tatts before they'd settled in, though he'd been more than happy to have Marco trace them earlier. Had returned the favour.

"Law."

.

Fuck, couldn't Marco see he was busy? Fucking Vergo. Couldn't get him out of his head. Shook that head. Split another matchstick, added it to the pile. Had they made him do this at some stage? To hone his skill? Punishment? He didn't care. He needed to do something.

He remembered something like this, over and over. Severing, splintering, everything perfectly on edge – his frazzled brain. Splitting wood for the woodpile, splintering pieces for kindling. Some putz he'd had to torture – separating one layer of nail from the other, paring hardened epithelium from the deeper skin.

"Law."

Law exhaled - annoyed - and moved from Marco's sphere, away from him. Whitebeard's first division commander. What the fuck did he want with him. Doflamingo's whore? Doflamingo's torturer? What the fuck could he ever want with him after hearing what he had yesterday? Most of it from his own whining mouth - a thin, grim line at present. The weak don't get to choose. Marco should know that.

Law couldn't remember what he had and hadn't verbalised, but all the events touched upon, whether mentally or spoken, _were_ his life. Did they all see what he saw? Feel it? Pity them. They'd need the economy pack bleach. His surface was all hooks and hatchets, not an elbow crook of comfort.

"Law."

He glanced at the Phoenix.

"What are you doing?"

What did it look like? Splitting matchsticks into further matchsticks and putting them back together again.

"What'd I do? What happened?"

Law paused. Rested the nodachi, his breath articulated. Just when things go right, they fall.

The blond picked up Law's shirt from the bench and brought it across. The black one with the white patterning. One of the black ones he guessed. Law looked at it as if it were a foreign object, magnificent freaking chest rising and falling. Why? The pectorals that Law had willingly allowed Marco to run his hands over the night before, which he had pressed into the swirl of his tongue.

Law turned from Marco, barely giving him a glance. You _don't know me_. He tipped his hand upward in the blue of the Room and assembled all the matchsticks so they looked like the installation he'd made of the marine ship, boulders and river on Punk Hazard.

Fuck, had Law scanned and gathered every single pack of matches on board the ship? That was an impressive model. Some fixation. Was that a smile? A leer? Law's own appreciation of his malformation? Strutting his mangled self across the stage of the oddotorium with a fuck you limp and a hobble?

The Phoenix quirked an eyebrow and dimmed his own fire. Last thing they needed was the ship to go down or up in flames. Cook would also be livid that his matches were gone, but he had other means of igniting the hot plates.

.

 _Was his crew okay_? Law. A random thought chasing another. He hadn't even asked – some captain he was – the presence of those _bastar_ – the way Doflamingo swaggered into Shanks' galley as if it were the very cell he kept Law in those two years.

Law added more matches to the highest level of the model so the whole structure was top heavy. The only thing keeping it afloat was his power.

He could smell it emanating off them, marking their territory, marking him to let Shanks know, anyone know, Law was his. This person, _this property_ , this person, _this prostitute_ , this shit, _this slut_ , this shit, _this_ Doflamingo _slave._ What effect would neutering have on that bow-legged prick?

He had to be ready, in that cell, in the mornings, and if he wasn't - well, that's what the strings were for. He'd almost dropped to his knees out of conditioning, standing next to proud Marco, trying not to shake in front of resolute Benn. Kikoku rattling with anger, Law with fear.

The strings would pierce the membrane of his lips and hold his mouth open when he wasn't willing. Or asleep. Damn it. Sometimes he just didn't wake up fast enough. It hurt, it fucking hurt. Those things could slice a building clear through. So he complied. It was better to be willing.

He turned back to his sculpture, wiping sweat from his face with his shoulder, before his colour showed. As if it could be seen in this light. His own skin wasn't much of an absorbent.

The Heart pirates were on reconnaissance somewhere. Doflamingo used the cloudy skies to travel. Who knew how Vergo was moving? They probably still had that hideous ship and the World Government probably let them sail it. Though he had some fondness for it. Dellinger sitting on that canon. Oddball. Even if Law had no clue what was normal. He was aware of this. Tried to work on it.

He wanted Bepo. He began to disassemble the art, a cascade of matches. As long as the Polar Tang remained submerged they should be okay. Bepo was a sentient being, not his fucking plush toy, but he wanted his goodness. His lack of judgement. Where the fuck was he?

There was no way the Phoenix wasn't judging, especially after this display. Luffy had dumped him for Zoro. True, he'd never told Luffy about the Zoro attack the morning after they'd removed the seastone chip, and he'd never told him of the nightmare, but it just showed that Roronoa was right. He wasn't good enough.

What was Marco's greeting? Psycho. Who could love - no, like (no need to get ahead of yourself there, white m . . . _Law_ ) - this fucking venomous heart? Fucking his body was another matter. No-one ever had trouble with that. He still felt the curl of their arms around his waist. He spat to the side. Away from Marco.

What had Zoro said? Nothing that hadn't been said before and that the bounty posters didn't also say.

And what did Doflamingo and Vergo say? What did they tell Shanks and Benn? All of it. Fucking all of it. Every vile, bile-inducing, wretched experience.

"Go, Marco. Leave. Can't connect. I can't …" He was going to vomit all over those Roman sandals if the commander stood there for much longer.

Law pointed to the jumbled matchsticks. They were quite beautiful in their colourless Kandinsky kind of a way. Neo-Kandinsky. That's how the paths within were. Sixes and sevens, apples and oranges, giraffes and chalk, devil fruit and devil fruit, removed from any direction leading anywhere.

Vergo's breath was right by his ear. If Marco touched him now, it wouldn't be wise. He ran his hands down his own body, slick with perspiration, and tried to shake it off. The feeling. Picked up his shirt and wiped himself down with it, before pulling it over his head. He wasn't ready, he just wasn't ready.

.

Five things he could see. Well, he couldn't see fucking anything in here. He lit up five of the matches and doused them before they ignited the whole structure.

"You're fucking playing with fire?"

Duh.

Four things he could feel.

Depressions around his wrists. Nails ragged on the fingers of his hand. The almost gentle, sensual, lattice work Doflamingo had made of his entire body. Doffy loved to trace the marks left by his strings when he was being magnanimous, Law drowning beside him in that mammoth bed. It sure beat the hell out of the cell floor.

Hair spiked, he ran his tongue against the roof of his mouth – still felt the imprint from it being scored. And one more. Well, it wouldn't hurt if there was one more. Five things he could feel instead of four. Luffy's agate. Had he brought that with him?

Three things he could hear. He put his hand in his pocket for the stone. _Fuffufu_ He lit three matches again. One- _fu_ -buckle my-fu _cking_ -shoe. Three- _fu_ , knock on the _–_. Five, six, light _all_ the sticks. The flare of fire, _na Law?_ He snuffed them quickly.

Two things he could smell – sulphur and, yeah, somehow – he'd spent the morning in the bath – but the feel of crust all over him lingered, a layer of dirt under his nails, and, but, wait – Marco's fire, a particular burnt autumn? A scent that had something warm in it. Resin? Leaves? What had Marco smelt like last night? Law rubbed at the curve of his own neck.

Now, he could mostly recall a metallic chill. He knew that wasn't all there was. And he knew the Phoenix hadn't touched him. Not in that way, and he knew because he didn't sleep. Waiting for the snaking of fingers across his stomach and lower. Would Law have rolled toward the touch, toward him? Just let him do what he wanted? Wanted him to do what he wanted? Kicked him out?

One thing he could taste.

Vergo.

He wasn't ready.

* * *

 **A/N** :

 **Thank you for reading** **.** This chapter follows on from chapters 14-17 of _Repossession._ 16 and 17 are chapters detailing the beginning of Law and Marco's relationship. 14 and 15 are when Doflamingo and Vergo visit the Red Force. 14 and 15 are not pretty chapters, so heed the warnings if you read them.

In this AU, Doflamingo escaped from Dressrosa, Vergo from Punk Hazard, taking Law with them as a captive for two years. All is detailed in the first chapter of _Repossession_.

This fic will cross between Law's past (this chapter) and his present (Luffy being pirate king, Marco and Law growing old together). We'll see how it unfolds, anyway. Not too much angst in it, I think (who am I kidding?).

Certain chapters in this are explicit in the _Repossession_ vein. There are softer chapters too though. The tougher chapters are on AO3 at the moment. I will think what to do in terms of bringing them to FFN.

* * *

 **Note: Dec 8, 2018** : The Vivre Cards have come out with Marco's height, and he's got 12cm on Law. When I started writing these two, a post on Oro Jackson had Marco at about 184 cm, which I prefer. I initially wrote Marco taller, and readjusted everything. Now, it seems I need to go the other way! BUT, I'll just leave author notes instead. It's always an AU anyway.


	2. Little Red Riding Hood - Red Force

**Chapter Two: Red Riding Hood - Red Force**

* * *

" _What's_ he doing?"

"Splintering matchsticks."

Benn felt his pockets. Damn, his backup was missing.

"Splintering _what_?"

Marco rolled his eyes.

"Matches. Guess he's prepping for the day we're stranded, and he's gone into survival mode, splitting matches to optimize lighting opportunities."

Shanks flicked his fringe with a levelled pointer finger and scratched at his temple.

"We're surrounded by water."

"Maybe all the more reason to optimize?"

"You can start a fire with a wave of your hands."

Marco shrugged.

"Lucky for him he didn't take a liking to lighters," Benn growled.

"Right?"

Marco didn't know whether to be worried or not. The doc had certainly been intense, focused on his, what? Task? Art?

"He's made a weird-arse sculpture, like an upside down marine ship, only in reverse. That is, looks like a river's floating on top of it."

"Huh," Shanks said. "Out of matches?"

"Bisected and slivered."

"With his nodachi?"

Marco nodded, incredulous. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it.

"That's some fruit," Benn whistled. He turned to the yonko. "You did trigger him yesterday, Shanks."

Shanks' face screwed up in disgust. "That wasn't my doing."

"True," Benn's expression was also clouded. "Well, you might have compounded the toxicity."

"He didn't have to tell us a thing."

"Also true." Benn lit up. "Let him work it out. It's not the first time he's disappeared. At least we know what happens to the matches."

They'd be returned, but frayed, worn and some spent and used. The crew were certain sprites were responsible for their sporadic disappearance and shabby reappearance.

"He doesn't seem to be quite compos mentis." Marco took a seat and crossed his leg over his knee, adjusting the band he wore on his calf. It always disturbed Shanks a bit that Marco's ability turned him into a bird, and he wore a dressing like a roast turkey waiting to be eaten.

"No-one sane ever sails with me."

Benn lifted an eyebrow.

"Except for Benn."

Perhaps.

"You didn't make him do anything did ya, Phoenix?" Benn growled around his cigarette. "Last night?" He walked over to Shanks' table and poured himself a finger of whiskey.

Marco tchhed, his lip rising.

"He's not a child." Though he _was_ playing with matches in the hull of a ship. "And no, for what it's worth." No-one told the surgeon what to do, or any of them, for that matter.

* * *

 **Thank you** for reading. Next up, Law connects with a friend.


	3. Fi-Fie-Fo-Fum - Red Force

**Chapter Three: Fi-Fie-Fo-Fum**

* * *

"Nico-ya."

Law had fetched the den-den mushi from his jeans pocket. It was always kind of unsettling that the gastropod grew extra hands, or grew hands, whenever she called.

"I hear you're being the curmudgeon of doom."

He picked up his hat from where it sat on the bench beside him and pushed it onto his head.

"Compliments won't get you anywhere."

Her quiet laugh lit the transponder's face.

"Are you somewhere dark, damp and dank?" Hadn't Law had enough of such restrictions? She knew _why_ he sought them out or fled to them on occasion, but even so.

Law looked at the match sculpture, currently hanging from the ceiling.

"I have a candelabra."

"Candela-?"

"-My latest project." Law flared up a few matches.

"Are you trying to set the ship on fire again?"

"It's not my intention." With a flick of his wrist he turned it into a chandelier. The light of a match sparking for a second brought to mind the agate. He wasn't sure why. Its colour wasn't dark enough to have sudden flashes of light. It _was_ light, like Luffy himself, streaked with orange. With blind, stupid courage. The kind that had helped him out on more than one occasion.

"Robin?"

"Hmm." They we're back to first name basis.

"Luffy there? Can your captain talk?"

Law's chest restricted as he growled the request. He lit and snuffed a few more match heads with a twist of his hand. The back of the pinky of his other hand dipped into the slope of the gem in his pocket. The den-den on bench beside him inhaled.

"Not a good idea," Robin said softly.

"Too soon?"

"Mmm. Still insecure."

It hadn't been that long, and the split was for the best, Law knew it. Zoro and Luffy spent more time in each other's company than Law ever could. He exhaled. He'd always taken care of himself before. He'd do it again now.

"Can I help? Shanks told me Doflamingo and his lapdog paid a visit yesterday."

The mention of them. Law turned the stone. Cast a look at the transponder again. In the shadow he could see Robin was master at keeping her face schooled. As always. Was his the same?

"Don't glare like that."

Maybe no.

"D'you ever wonder what we put these transponders through?"

Law glanced at the patient expectation on the face of the one in front of him. Poor damn transponders too.

"It'll pass, Robin. You know it."

"You've got good people there?"

"Bepo's sailing. The crew." Submerging.

"Ah. The others?"

Benn, Shanks, Marco. Did he measure up?

"Ah, yeah. They're good people." Too good for . . .

"Like attracts like Law, and no, _against_ your will isn't attraction."

Law was listening. She continued.

"Who's on board now, you or that refuse?"

"Mmm." He guessed Shanks had briefed her. He must want him to emerge from the depths of the ship at some point.

"What did they leave with? Or who? Without?"

He pushed the brim of his hat as he brushed at his brow. He understood all that. Maybe it was the deeper connection with Marco that threw him for a loop. And — the good outcome of yesterday was Marco. Benn. Shanks. It didn't mean he'd even begun to process coming face to face with the despotic duo. But he hadn't been hurled into the drink or worse. There _was_ worse than drowning.

"I might be starting something." He kept the orb at a low burn, eco-friendly, just enough to make sure the art stayed together.

"Is that why you're freaking out in a pseudo-dungeon?"

"I'd prefer to define it as unleashing creative potential in my pop-up studio."

"Obsessively?"

"Well, I'm not amputating and reattaching my fingers." And when wasn't a maestro obsessive? He was a lot calmer than Jora. That was a fact.

"You do that?"

"Only for kicks." He gnawed the back of a knuckle.

"They're not worried about you. They know you'll come through, but Benn wants his backup matches, and the cook will flay you alive if you return any spent ones."

"He can try." But Law eyed the structure, isolating the whole match heads.

"He's good people, Law."

"Who?" It would be sacrilege to praise a cook other than Blackleg.

"There's no way Benn or Shanks are splitting up, and you're not the kind of captain to start anything with your subordinates."

Been there, done that. Law thought of Penguin. Though he'd never really been a subordinate.

"Phoenix-blond just might be your colour, Trafalgar."

It needed the modifier. Law stretched his legs out in front of him, the heel of his boot sharp against wood.

"You going to stay down there much longer?"

"For a while."

"You warm?" Law was barefoot the last time they'd practiced their social graces in the bowels of the Thousand Sunny.

"Enough."

"Well, when you stop being a moody bastard, there's folk who'd like to see you."

"Roger." He turned the agate from where he'd pulled it from his pocket, looked at it more closely. "Thanks, Robin."

"Mmm."

"Law?"

"Yes?"

"Five things."

Law took a breath. "It's pretty dark in here, Nico-ya, and I'm not allowed to play with matches."

"Use your room, and Law?"

"Mmm?"

"You are playing with matches. And Law?"

"What?"

"Good things."

"Slave driver."

.

He turned his hand under the sphere. The sphere itself was very pretty, but maybe something not fruit-produced was better. He viewed the letters inked onto his fingers and the saggy elephant skin defining his flattened knuckles.

"Whirlpools of skin. They're kind of cute. On my knuckles."

"Okay."

"Cuticle moons."

"Nice. More like a sun setting?"

"If my nails were orange."

The den-den smiled.

"Your smile, Nico-Ya."

The den-den blinked.

"Kikoku. Red thread on her scabbard." Was that a pleased thrum from his demon? He'd have to remember that one.

He pulled a hair from his head, right near the crown, tugging lightly but sharply so there was no pain. He couldn't have done a better job with his nodachi. He wasn't sure if he could have done the job at all with his nodachi.

"My long luscious locks."

"How do you see those?"

"Pulled them from my head."

"Good things, I said."

"Didn't hurt." The transponder smiled so Law wondered if his resting bitch face had eased up.

"Four things."

"Same as before." He ran his fingers over the metacarpal cavities of his hand, felt the flesh swaddling the bones. "Skin, nails." He lifted a hand to his ear. "Gold." Then back to Kikoku, the fur trimming the hilt. "Bepo."

"He's there?"

"On the ocean. The trim on the nodachi reminds me, is all."

Robin's murmur was pleased.

"Three."

"Your voice, my voice." He paused for a second. No, as close as he was to the ocean, he couldn't distinguish its motions against the ship.

Robin began to hum, and he heard the News Coo deliver the papers to Nami, or someone in the background.

" _Bink's sake_. You outside?"

Robin stopped humming. "Some of us don't secret ourselves away like sewer rats."

"Seabirds."

"That's four."

"So sue me. I guess your singing wasn't that pleasant."

He smiled at her laugh.

.

"Two. Two things."

"Can they be anything?"

"So long as they exist, there and then."

Law replaced the stone into his pocket and lifted his arm, distaste crossing his face.

"Sulphur. From matches. Me. I stink."

"Working out?"

"Creative endeavours are exhausting." He dropped his arm.

"Okay Picasso. One thing you can taste."

How was that one meant to help, he wondered? What do you taste? Your own saliva? Lick a wall and contract lead poisoning? Defeat, victory? Did everyone decide to have a meltdown near a fruit tree or a banquet? How could you even name half the things you tasted that weren't food or drink?

"Law?"

Kikoku's wish for vengeance.

"You got some water down there?"

Did he?

Shanks jerked his head up from his maps to witness a bottle of rum replaced with a match. And not just any match, but a splintered, burnt and twisted match. That surgeon was taking things too far.

In the hold, Law unscrewed the cap and took a swig. Breathed out the rotgut. An emperor should have better stock. He was surprised the little den-den didn't wither under the fumes. Then again, it was his den-den, wearing Robin's face.

"Rum."

"I said water, not firewater."

Law grinned. He shambled the rum back to Shanks before the yonkou decided it was time to grant him an audience.

"Law?"

"Mmm?" He began using his power to sort the matches into boxes.

"My mother's face. Splatting my hands on her face like a puppy finding its first steps. The way she laughed."

"Robin." He paused his task, left half the chandelier hanging.

"Play with me."

.

He closed his eyes, rested back against the ship wall. "My father's palm on Lamie's forehead. Her smile. His hands were always warm." Law tucked his own rather un-warm hands under his armpits.

"The archaeologists and scholars giving me their knowledge. Fighting for it and for me. Dereshi. Dereshishishi."

"Dereshi?"

"A friend laughed that way, at the hardest moments."

The pause told him all he needed to know. He hadn't quite mastered the skill.

"He wasn't from Ohara. Ex-marine. Jaguar _D_. Saul, just like you pricks, but he taught me to laugh."

"I've made you smile on occasion."

"That's not the point."

"Something about that sound is familiar."

"Mmm." It had crossed her mind before. "Your turn."

"My mother passing me her purse. I bought strawberry ice-cream for Lamie, a green tea one for me."

Comparisons were fucking odious. But, apart from the disease he knew would kill him if his parents didn't find a cure, and Lamie's illness and pain, he knew he'd been with people who loved him longer, in his immediate family, than Robin had been. Until age ten. He'd been happy, even if worried.

"The tree of knowledge. My mother's pride that I could read the poneglyphs."

Law had to filter through all the images, but held onto the light ones.

"Books," Robin said.

"Books," Law agreed.

All tossed into the lake. Professor Clover taking a bullet for them. Multiple bullets. History engraved in the poneglyphs - a guarantee against the world government.

Prizes or punishment in their access or denial under Doflamingo's regime. Something the soldiers who shot his parents had not read. Or maybe they had. Intelligence did not equal benevolence.

The den-den mushis on either ship rested almost at half-mast as Robin and Law isolated what they had learnt and not what they'd lost.

.

Law heard a ruckus somewhere on the Thousand Sunny. Nami's screeching.

"Luffy fall into the water?"

"Zoro's going after him. I better get blankets and towels."

Law's better-you-than-me gaze showed he knew what she had in store.

"Ciao, monster-ya."

"Yeah, you know what? Stick that up your white-speckled orifice and ciao yourself, Flevance."

Law ran his hand idly on his side. Marco's breath against his ribs had felt right at some point yesterday. He better start putting those matches in their rightful place.

The nooks and crannies of the Red Force were not foreign to pirates sneaking in to jerk off, or to meet up for hidden trysts, to catch a few minutes sleep. Law building Rodin's Gates to Dante's Inferno out of matchsticks might have been a first.

"I don't even know what that orifice looks like. Have you been spying on me again?"

"Luffy has a big mouth."

Now he didn't know if she was lying or not.

"Every time Longnose calls me a creep, Nico-ya, it kills me a little inside. I'm glad to see one member of your crew has retained their manners."

"Go screw yourself." Rested a beat. " _Fufufu_. Better?" Law had picked up the transponder, and the pointer finger of one of the extra hands was curled around his own. A tiny thing, a baby's grasp.

"Mmm. Thank you."

"Next time, Law?"

"I'll recreate the library of Ohara."

"Out of matchsticks?"

"If the cook lets me have them."

"Enjoy yourself."

Now, there was a foreign concept.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading** **.** For the curious, Robin and Law's prior experience of chatting in cold, sequestered rooms can be found in chapter 9 of Repossession.


	4. Trip-trapping - Mountain Time

**Chapter Four - Who's that Trip-Trapping over my Bridge?**

* * *

"I think he's got a soft spot for Sengoku's goat." Marco brought the coffees over to the balcony where Zoro and Luffy - the pirate king - were kicking back, looking out at the view. One of the reasons why Law and he had decided to settle here. Zoro took in a whiff of his mocha and smiled with pleasure. Marco guessed he'd got the balance right.

"Baa?"

"Bleat."

"Yeah, you know Law and animals."

"He dissects them, doesn't he?"

"Fluffy animals. Animals with fur. He likes them." Marco dropped a few sugars in his drink. They only kept it in the house for his sweet tooth. Mercury, dog number three, sat nearby. Or sat on Luffy's foot, as they all did, adoring him just as much as Bartolomeo.

"He wanted us to ditch the cow on Dressrosa."

"Wasn't it a bull?" Zoro asked.

Luffy shrugged. What was the difference? He'd opted for cold mugi-cha. Marco and Law were so adult. Law sometimes kept something bubbly and non-alcoholic for him.

"Yeah, I can't imagine why else he'd so willingly spend time with the Buddha." And spend time away from him, Marco thought. It had to be done sometimes. Oh, and there was that whole Cora thing.

Zoro and Luffy weren't worried, Marco neither, except for the prickle of anxiety they all felt, Heart pirates included, any time Law decided to strike out.

They all ignored it until it was wise not to. It wasn't the first time he'd gone. He always returned.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Sengoku wandered up the craggy path, rocks sliding down the incline with every step, even though he was surefooted. He knew this path like the back of his hand nowadays, like the worn soles of his shoes. He paused, considered changing into celestial form. The presence was pretty strong but doing nothing to disguise itself. Arrogance? Foolhardiness? Law always spent more time talking to Bleat than him anyway. Something to do with Flevance, no doubt.

The Heart captain was looking a bit more like an old goat nowadays too, as he was himself, though Law still kept his facial hair trimmed. Sengoku divided his beard into two plaits, and threw a braid over either shoulder as a concession to the times. Sometimes he tied them together with the fancy bands Benn had left behind last time he caught up with him and Shanks.

"Scourge of the sea," he directed at the scowl Law rarely lost. He looked up from his book, Bleat beside him, prettily chewing cud, obliviously out of place amongst the soaring landscape. The mountain goats that climbed the rock-faces each day, padded hooves keeping grip, looked on, indifferent. With thighs like Garp's, they rested on forty-five degree slopes as if squatting on the pavement, hanging out, passing time. One tip-tapped down a rock face sharper than Tsuru's tongue. Bleat was the true goat, though.

"Fat Buddha."

Sengoku patted the pot of his belly. He _was_ getting a little weighty. An indication of good cheer and luck. Good will. Those starving Buddhas? They could keep their heroin chic. Not his style at all.

"Board shorts in an alpine climate? Really, old man?" Maybe that was where Cora's common sense had come from.

"My toes are covered," Sengoku said. He thrust a packet of rice crackers Law's way and the pirate waved them away. He shoved a handful in his own mouth. Almost out. He'd gone to town to stock up on supplies. Since they were talking fashion, Sengoku took in the pirate's appearance more closely. Who was old? Those patches of grey were prominent. Bastard didn't lose his looks though. The grey streaks kind of matched the slate of his eyes.

"As are mine," Law said, his book well away from Bleat, and pulling at the leather of the hiking boots he'd worn to climb to the godforsaken hermit's hut Sengoku lived in nowadays. Some weird kind of homage to Akainu, maybe. He hoped not.

His pants were suitable too. He looked like a regular yodeller or hiking Joe. But no lederhosen. That was more Sanji's style.

Once Law figured he could get away and that getting away didn't always have to be under the ocean, in a tin can, under the cobwebbed foundations of a house, he realised that he liked the outdoors. From then he sought isolation in more exposed terrains. He wasn't a stranger to them.

"You didn't use your fruit to get here?"

"Takes too much energy. Never know who you might meet." Kikoku doubled as a hiking staff. She was seething.

Law had only caught a quick glance of the sunflower field in Dressrosa before that gigantic toy tin soldier swallowed up Luffy and himself. Such a close shave. Those fucking handcuffs, that fucking key. Just as well they'd had the nodachi with them. And then Diamante tried to slice him and Mugiwara in two. The industrial belch of Spider Miles had nothing like that field. Flevance was all surface beauty, and better not to talk of Minion Island. Sengoku lived in a damned breathtaking place.

"Thank God you're wearing boots. Seeing one more ugly tattoo than necessary..."

And they called him rude. "You're not that kind of admiral," Law said pointedly, and Sengoku stopped mid-chew before starting up again. They were all wrecked, one way or another, there was no doubt, but this was Roci's boy and Sengoku had helped dispose of Akainu for him, or for Roci's memory. Law was right. There was no rhyme nor reason in these peaceful times to see any of the many tattoos Law chose to cover.

Black hair dipping, the younger man studied the ink on his hand and forearms for a second. He'd seen worse. Basil's eyebrows. Sengoku's goat looked out at one of her pseudo-brethren teetering over a precipice, pulling at grass, unperturbed.

"You came to chew the fat with Bleat?"

Law scratched at the back of his head. He'd left his hat in his bag, knowing from experience how fond the goat was of it. He could get used to the solitude of this area, though he'd prefer to have Marco or Bepo, or both with him. Not now though.

"She makes for good conversation."

"Don't I know it." Sengoku shoved the rice crackers Law's way again. The pirate declined. The goat's golden bell tinkled. The ex-marine didn't rest his shopping down, his backpack full of stock. Bleat would be onto it in an instant, or even if she managed to behave herself, the mountain goats were incorrigible. Law tucked his book into his own bags.

.

The Ds. What a strange bunch they were. From giants, to this kid who had no manners but some strange kind of code where his rudeness came across as abruptness rather than intent. Ah, Sengoku knew Law didn't give a flying fuck, yet he'd sought him out on Dressrosa, and though that detour led to two years of hell – though probably no different from Impel Down – he knew Law would not have bypassed that detour if it had meant their paths _not_ crossing.

A doctor's son, two doctors. You wouldn't think the rudeness would be so ingrained. Portgas D. Ace. A pirate's son. Polite to a fault, with an appetite as big as his D brother. As for Strawhat. What could one say? And Luffy's father. Then Garp, the grandfather presiding over them all. All the way down to Marshall D. Teach. Now, there had been a piece of work. Gol D Roger and Portgas D Rouge.

.

"What do you have against history, old man?" Law stood to help Sengoku with his bag, but he brushed him off. Law picked up his own bag. Good idea to keep it close. Slipped the straps over his shoulder. Bleat edged towards Kikoku's tassels, he kept an eye on the goat.

"You climbed a mountain to ask me that?"

"Mountains," Law nodded. "Seems like a pretty good question."

Sengoku felt all he'd ever experienced throughout life was one challenge to his authority after the other, officers always questioning the orders they had to follow. Why were they all marines if they didn't know what it meant to serve? Law had been corrupted from an early age. At least he had an excuse.

"No point in dwelling on it."

.

If Robin hadn't been able to read the poneglyphs, Luffy couldn't have reached his goal. What was so terrible that the government couldn't risk anyone unearthing it again? Nothing had crumbled. Nothing of worth. So-called Justice had crumbled. Corruption. Old power structures. Law sat down again with a sigh. His words seemed flimsy when surrounded by fogs, mist, goats, mountains, thin air, this particular vista. But he _had_ climbed mountains.

"Cora-san was seventeen when you destroyed Ohara. You knew how to look after a child. He must have been about eight when he came to you."

Law remembered Vergo's words as he beat Cora into the snow; Sengoku's own words about the stranded, distressed boy he'd helped, taken in.

Whether Cora himself really knew how to look after a child was open to debate of course, but Law was steadfast in his conclusion that he did a damn side better than Doffy ever would have. Than Doffy did.

Of course he had the agate in his pocket. Also the basalt this time round. He carried it for the mountains, for Marco. The Phoenix had helped bring Akainu down to avenge Ace and Oyaji. Law knew that. But the basalt he'd sent him after the magma man's demise, wrapped in a personal note, let him know a talon or two had been extended on his behalf. He ran both stones through his fingers until the bad taste died.

Eight, the age Robin ran from Ohara. The age she fled the World Government, and then for twenty more years. Law was four. Amber Lead just strange white spots he saw on the hands of his older cousins.

"What did they do, Sengoku-san?" He stared directly at the older man. "The doctors? The archaeologists? The historians? What threat were they? How could you persecute a child for so long?"

Just as well they never knew for certain where he'd gone after escaping Doflamingo or more so, Flevance. He'd been near-adult though, once he left Joker, and never had the knowledge that Robin did, and they were chasing him for other reasons not long after.

"They were warmongers."

Law grunted. Did he give Cora shelter because he was a world noble? Had Sengoku known that? Law hadn't.

"Sakazuki fired on the evacuation ship."

Law remained calm at the name. Sengoku was impressed. Maybe it was because the admiral was long passed, or Law had already indirectly brought him up in conversation.

"Kuzan let her go."

Sengoku paused chewing again before resuming. He hoped Law had brought him some of the okaki - mochi rice crackers - of his region. What kind of visitor would he be if he hadn't? He picked at the back of his teeth. His shopping was getting heavy, and he'd have to get the fire lit soon. He guessed he'd be putting up this wayward wayfarer tonight. Kuzan, eh? This kid knew more than he should. Then again, Cora was a master spy.

"A vice-admiral you don't know, Saul, once asked why every ship we encountered full of historians we wiped out, but we knew what they were looking for. We couldn't have them reactivating destructive ordnance. He was a D."

Robin's friend.

"Was? It doesn't seem to me, historically, to be the scholars, archaeologists and the doctors who have their fingers on the triggers." Kikoku's scabbard was cold to the touch. He hoped Sengoku would suggest moving indoors soon.

"Kuzan said Saul, ex-Vice-Admiral Saul, was the one who ran with Robin. Who saved her that day."

A child of eight. And if Akainu had her in his sights? She wouldn't be alive. If Akainu had come across Cora instead of Sengoku how would he have fared? Law stared at weakening sky – the goats moving to tip-of-tongue ridges barely signposting caves and alcoves. Did Sengoku put the call out for Ohara, for Flevance? Provide and send the marines? He opened his mouth to ask.

"Are you running from Marco again?"

Bleat definitely wasn't Mercury, but she didn't mind some petting, though she could do with a wash. Law shut his mouth and ran his fingers in her fur before answering. Diversionary tactics. Sengoku was good. Straight for the gut.

"I just need a break sometimes," Law shrugged. "He knows I'll be in touch."

Sengoku noted the _fuckthefuckoff_ air rising from Law. He thought of the Phoenix's help in bringing down Akainu. Bleat's help. He was glad it worked. If he'd lost Bleat . . .

"You just leave him to do everything? You've got a dog, haven't you? Those clinics to run?"

What did Law know of his time with Cora? How could he understand what it meant to disobey the Gorosei? He was the captain of a ship. Okay, submarine. Orders sometimes had to be followed. Unblinkingly.

Law wasn't getting drawn into it. "I need to get away at times. I make sure everything is taken care of."

Sengoku's eyes narrowed. "You're lucky, Law."

"I value what I've got. I just need to get away sometimes. If it breaks us, then that is what it is."

"I told you many years ago, don't try to find the reasons for a person's love." Don't test it either, he felt like adding.

Law wasn't expecting that.

He jerked his hand out and Sengoku slapped okaki onto it. Law chomped down. Rice crackers. He could eat any of the old man's snacks. He chewed and swallowed, the dry flakes catching at the back of his throat. He uncapped his flask and took a sip before he began talking again, brushing Bleat away from nibbling his hair.

"I fought for Cora and, though I was unsure of the reasons for his love, and my reasons for fighting were maybe misguided, I knew his love existed and was there and that it saved me in the brief time we had together."

Marco's love. He reassessed it all the time, but didn't doubt it, though he had doubted its manifestation at one particular time, because that was a fucking ugly manifestation that had nothing to do with love, and they wouldn't have survived if he hadn't examined it. He didn't, he hadn't, accepted the negative aspects, even if they were buried in history. It wasn't expected that he should.

So, the time away. Just a short period. Now and then. It cycled around and he needed spaces like the cold dark hulls, the rocking of the ships, the blackout dungeons. Somewhere for the subterranean to mature into nymphs, then into imagoes that flew and died away after fucking with all the pain. They had to lay their eggs first, but the offspring was happy to remain buried. Until.

He _knew_ he wasn't a cicada, thanks, and he knew letting the past fuck him about in the present wasn't the right way to deal with the subliminal using him for target practice. But he hadn't figured an alternative that didn't involve letting Kikoku do whatever she wanted to whomsoever she wished.

As if he had Bleat's peripheral vision, he side-glanced Sengoku. The old man knew what he'd gone through, but he didn't know. How could he? Of course he'd seen the victims of similar crimes, seen Law's own records, and he knew the men who committed them. As far as Law knew, he wasn't that kind of man. Sengoku knew, however, nothing of Marco's breach, nor of that breach being a watered down strain of Doflamingo's, or Vergo's, or Kizaru's, or Akainu's, or . . . the very many fucking trespasses against him. He pushed himself up with Kikoku. Her tassels were intact. Good to know she could scare off a goat.

"I want to hear about Cora. About Ohara. Flevance."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading** **.** All forms of feedback are appreciated. I'm bumping this up to an explicit rating, though it doesn't warrant the tag yet (nor mature) with the next chapter. Some upcoming chapters will be darker.

For backstory on Marco and Law, if curious, the full _Teaspoons_ on AO3will give it all to you, or it's summarised in _Birds of a Feather (_ available on FFN).

For those who haven't read the other stuff, the first chapter of _Repossession_ has A/N outlining the AU for this series. The A/N is easy enough to read, I think, but please read the warnings for the chapters.

The Akainu / Sengoku / Marco stuff is in _Birds of a Feather,_ and the last chapter of _Repossession._

* * *

 **Further AN** : Some readers can only use FFN, and I appreciate that, so I am starting to bring this fic over. The rest of the fic has been at AO3 because it has dark chapters, and some explicit chapters. However, if people can't read it there, I'll try to bring it here. The dark chapters are in the minority, but they are **dark**. I don't want to upset readers, and don't want to lose the fic., but also, if readers on FFN want to read it, then I'd like them to. I'll think how I will present the confronting chapters. They'll definitely have trigger warnings, like in Repossession, if I bring them over.


	5. Bye Baby Bunting-Captivity (past)

**Warnings:** Rape and non-con throughout this chapter. Implication of possible past underage abuse. Explicit and mature themes. This chapter takes the story on a darker path. The story is not all like this, but it is an underlying theme. Please take note tand proceed accordingly.

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Bye Baby Bunting (Captivity)**

* * *

Law was a bit like an accordion nowadays. As flexible as ever. When he'd had him on his back he'd trussed him up. It wasn't necessary, but he wanted that arm to _ache_ , and he wanted Law to know how well and truly he was owned.

He made beautiful tunes if you played him right, and a caterwaul with rough handling. There was something redundant about him. Something sad and so Great-Uncle-Arthur's-slide-show. Nobody cared. Nobody cared about his city and this one straggly survivor. Even now, when he thought he could breathe his presence into the world – thought he had – that he'd whipped up a mother-fucking-storm. Pussy. More like a puff of air. Hot air.

Law had swapped his body out with another, but the holes from the first time he'd shot him had still looked tender when he'd had Law on his back. His power did well to heal him, but he expected there wasn't enough time to do it properly in the chaos he'd brought upon Dressrosa. They'd nabbed him so quickly after everything was meant to be all over.

He'd noticed the glassiness that had swept his eyes when he'd spread his fingers across the bullet entry points, like pressing down on that accordion's keys. It had nothing to do with what Doflamingo was forcing into his body. He'd had him gagged, bound like a netted ham, so any protests were well and truly muffled. But he imagined the tongue curling against the roof of his mouth in agony.

He'd teach Law that he wasn't very good at making decisions, that it was impudent for him even to try. Whether he learnt through a mouthful of cock or being filled to the brim from the other side, he'd drive the point home, which is what he was doing right now, determinedly. Oh that piece of shit tried to grin and bear it and do all that fucking stoic shit he'd no doubt learnt over the last ten years, turning his back on the meticulous training he'd received, but they'd whip him back into shape in no time.

That arm was barely supporting him, and he'd got Diamante to chip him, so healing would not be a fast process. He'd already howled in pain, and Doflamingo knew that he would again soon.

He was thoroughly enjoying himself. Revenge was a dish best served to Law in the form of intermingled bodily fluids, and revenge was rather warm, actually, the walls of his underling's accommodating anal canal clutching around him. It accommodated his whole fucking girth, even when Law protested he didn't want it. Well-trodden neural pathways. Actions speak louder than words, my son. Bliss. He just got Vergo to stuff his needy mouth when his complaints grew too insistent.

Law had always been both his brightest student and most stupid. Maybe stubborn was the word. He jerked into him hard. That arm still wasn't doing a good job of withstanding the weight the Heart Pirate had put upon it, let alone carrying the extra force of his three metre frame. Law was such a little thing. How on earth could he have thought he'd ever stand up to him? Carried away on all that Strawhat bluster. He hadn't raised him to get carried away with an unworkable idea. That was almost as hard to take as the fact that Law kicked it into gear. Well, the pupil always had to keep in mind the master craftsman. The puppeteer. Best your master? Not in the Don Quixote family.

Dellinger, Bellamy, Trebol, Baby 5, Monet – they all took and appreciated their tutelage, though they didn't get quite the same lessons as Law did. Had. Was receiving again. Divine retribution was quite the bitch, bitch, suck it up. And he did. He was still so talented. Some of his officers were doing time for him now. They hadn't been able to gather them all before fleeing. A few had fled the fold. Doflamingo snarled. Law's fault too.

He'd acted out so he had to be beaten down. The family accepted that. Accepted that some were made to be beaten down. Particularly those with false pride. Now it was just a matter of convincing Law of the fact.

They were still enjoying hurting him too much to make him the main star of his own punishment, in that, he just had to endure it at this stage. If he could. Or not. It didn't matter. Either way. There was nothing he could do.

Doflamingo knew he'd been through too much to hide any of his expressions right now. Vergo was not meant to be alive, after all. Strawhat was meant to have taken Doflamingo out. He and his executives were meant to be on their way to Impel Down. Law's finest hour. Yet here he was, with his owner's cock buried deep in all the warmth Law's body had to give. That, his mouth, and whatever leaked or spurted from his own piddly cock was probably the _only_ warmth Law had to offer him at this stage, and he'd take what he could. That ingrate owed him that much at least.

He pulled back on his returned slave's hair, making sure to clip the ear as his did so. It was still tender from where they'd chipped him with seastone. The grunt of pain, and now, it couldn't be shock, could it? – Law was always a good actor – was delicious. They hadn't made him beg yet.

There were advantages to being a good metre taller than the runt. One, if he caught him, he could pick him up so easily. It was a rare humiliation that tinted Law's eyes. He'd hold him to him remembering the times when he'd rescued him and Baby Five from others. He'd been a shit then too, but not rebellious. It had been a pleasure to start fucking him after he'd matured enough, was adult enough.

After all he'd betrayed them to the marines back then. Through proxy, mind you, but six months away, and all of a sudden Cora was god when there was only one god among them. One day Law would learn, one could only hope, that adults didn't have time to play with brats except in ways that benefited them.

He pulled the hair and neck back harder as he barrelled into that sublime broken twenty-six-year-old body. The prick dared yell out. He'd pay for it later. One always had to move the goalposts. How many of his own teeth did Law have left? They'd had to replace a few when he was younger, and he had such a temper. And now. Vergo had not been happy about being dismembered.

Doflamingo wasn't sick. He'd made Law officially a slave before he used him the first time around, branded him in keeping with the policy. By law it was allowed, and he didn't touch him until he was older, definitely after he'd removed the disease from his body, or he was getting there. A sudden growth spurt making him beautiful, desirable and the papers making him owned. Oh, this must be bringing back so many memories for Law. It definitely was for him.

He knew from experience, or more so, trial and error, that the body underneath him could take a hell of a lot. Still, he was gentle, almost delicate when he leant across the whole thing, resting his front on Law's back, his arms and shoulders draping over Law's own, his hips still jerking the doctor forward, grazed knee by grazed knee. He was mostly dressed of course. Not Law. Law was just a commodity now. That dignity would be afforded him only when it amused Doflamingo. Law had always been his to admire.

He breathed, exhaled, pure pleasure and contentment into Law's ear as he took the earrings in his mouth and bit on the ridge of the ear, and then explored with his tongue, the skin, the ugly tasting wax despite having washed and scrubbed him down. They didn't trust him enough to do it himself yet. He wasn't beaten down enough yet. Something so infantilising about cleaning up a captain. Shichibukai. Sponging him down. Changing his bandages. That tremor that went up Law's neck as he tried to pull away from Doflamingo's tongue. Was it pleasure or disgust? Either one worked and he was sure Law could feel his smile.

"You've never had much luck with marines, have you Law? You think you'd know enough by now to leave them well enough alone."


	6. Snow WhiteRose Red - Cora-Captivity

**A/N: Warnings:** Sexual Assault from the **last break (the last oOOo, that's the sixth one) to finish**. Explicit and mature themes in that section. Please proceed accordingly. The material before that maybe only has warnings for a slight amount of gore.

* * *

 **Chapter Six: Snow White and Rose Red**

* * *

Pirates shot his father and a marine saved his life. An admiral. Admirals. World nobles called upon them to protect them from every other living creature. Except if they'd renounced their title.

Homing, their father, begged for his life. He held Rocinante, and he begged for his life. Rocinante would have given it in a heartbeat of course, but he wasn't the one being asked. The one holding the gun. His father's smile was painful. He apologised for his failures and he begged. But he didn't try to stop him. He didn't try to stop his brother.

Did he think his younger son had a better chance with Doflamingo than Homing? Well, it was probably true in terms of sheer survival. But he'd be as dead inside, and he was as dead inside knowing that his father hadn't fought for him out of kindness. Kindness to Doffy resulted in what for him?

A tree branch laden with swarming bees, Trebol, Vergo, and Pica gathered round and bore Doflamingo on their shoulders. They provided him with the cleaver to decapitate the fallen body. Rocinante ran screaming from the shack. As if murder had not been enough. He heard about it later. How did his brother carry their father's head to the Tenryubito?

He imagined the rounded tanks world nobles wore when touring Sabaody, not wanting to breathe the same air as commoners; he imagined his father's distraught face being transported in one of those. He'd been an anomaly, refusing to wear one in life. Doffy would find the irony in encapsulating him in one in death.

But to no avail. His brother's sickening show of loyalty had been rejected, and his own life put in danger, he'd heard. What did he do with the head? The body? Leave it with the world nobles? Discard it like trash? Doffy's contempt for humans and nobles alike tripled.

Roci imagined the oxygen tank as a fish bowl, fish flitting in and out of his father's eye sockets, mouth and nasal cavities, his father's head both sustenance and shelter for them, the occasional strand of hair floating to the surface.

Homing didn't deserve his end. Of course nobles were humans, but try telling them or Doflamingo that. It was guaranteed to bring about a display of ire that left no-one standing.

If Sengoku hadn't found him and hadn't taken him in . . . he didn't know he was a world noble. Didn't know he had an obligation by law to protect him. He'd never told him. Feeling only too human. Subhuman, at the time. A feeling he never really shook.

He'd stood in Sengoku's office as a teen, a new cadet, nine years of safety, when that giant admiral had bawled his adopted father out and refused to shoot upon civilians because they were learned. From what Rocinante could understand, that was _why_ they were being exterminated.

But he knew that Sengoku fundamentally stood for what was right as did the marines, so Roci sent Law out. They would do the right thing by him. After all, he heard that giant, Jaguar D. Saul, had rescued the demon child, even if it was as an ex-admiral. As if she could be a demon at that age. He shook his head against the wall behind him, cold in the snow, remembering the doctors in the hospitals he'd so recently visited with Law.

And he heard on the grapevine that Kuzan had provided her safe passage due to his friendship with Saul. There were rumours. There was more good than bad.

He was sorry too. The kid could hardly walk, so much smaller than his thirteen years, but the fruit was already doing its job even if Law couldn't manage to make it do all that it could do just yet. The son of doctors. He must know he was the navy. Not all members of the navy were bad.

Doctors had rejected him hospital after hospital, yet he would not reject his mother and father. Rocinante knew that. Would not reject their memory. He was smart enough to apply the idea more widely. Not all marines were bad, not all pirates were good. Both could be used to further your aims. Law could apply his new powers beyond healing.

 **oOOo**

Law hid behind yet another brick wall, the snow not letting up. Seriously, Cora and he were spending far too much time outside. Cora was shot. He was a devil fruit user. Cora was a marine. Of course. He'd sent him out to seek out marines, and there was one nearby. He was shaking because of the cold and the sickness, and the aftertaste of that ope-ope whatever. Useless thing.

Honestly, he'd already almost died so many times what was one more threat? But after having survived them all, could he put himself in a situation where he might be taken captive, taken in, shot down, exterminated because his skin was covered in white spots? Last time he had his back pressed up against the wall it was under a bridge and marines were overhead hunting him and others down.

But Cora had been so sure, so confident, and without Cora, what did he have? Again? Cora was hurt because of him. He picked up a handful of snow and it didn't really melt in his hand, but he knew it would, sooner or later - - so one slow step after the other he pulled himself out of his cold, shivery hiding spot and the first marine he spoke to answered kindly and quickly, after seeing the padlocked canister Cora had given him, and Law thought maybe he could extend his trust just a bit further. Could he help Cora-san? The marine hoisted him on his back and they set out to find the klutz.

Maybe there was good in the world, he thought, as he pressed his head against the warm shoulder. He wanted to be in a world where ice creams and festivals were a possibility again. He braved a small smile. Maybe there was good.

 **oOOo**

The punch was _not_ more painful than the amber lead, because that was constant and uncontrollable. He couldn't control the punch either, but it was as fast and hard and brutal as a runaway truck shearing the bricks off the corner of a house. And then the pain stopped. He was out for the count.

That marine, that scum, that _Vergo_ had made his body as hard as marble and ploughed one fist after another into Cora-san's bleeding body, and Law was the one who had brought him there. He'd never seen doctors do that. Pirates never pretended _not_ to do it. The bullets that riddled Cora's body also bore Law's name.

 **oOOo**

A small eighteen-year old, a boy with an X marked on his chin, wrapped a blanket around himself and sipped gratefully at the cup of tea that Tsuru's crew gave him. He knew the navy and he knew pirates, and right now he knew the navy offered him a whole lot more shelter and protection.

 **oOOo**

Law would not have given up his detour to take another one for anything but he wished he'd had his wits about him. He was tired. His arm was healing, but it would take time. It wasn't his own work.

His body and psyche were badly bruised and then he had to think about not questioning the reasons for love, about whether Sengoku blamed him for Cora's death, whether he blamed himself, and was doing so when the haki-infused bamboo crashed down on the back of his head. Not again. His knees crumpled and Kikoku fell from his grasp. How fucking familiar was this? How _had_ that creep survived? Wasn't Dressrosa celebrating liberation?

He scrabbled with consciousness and a thousand thoughts crowded around even while he berated himself for his carelessness. Even if the old man told him nothing of the Will of D, speaking with Sengoku was what he needed, and he was pleased for Cora that he hadn't spent his time with Doflamingo after their father's death. He knew that from Vergo's words so long ago, but hadn't known the details.

Sengoku must be in part responsible for that kindness, that moral code. Yet, he would have arrested him if he still had the power. To chat, but Law knew the kind of conversation that came from being wrapped in chains. It usually involved a lot of grunts and coerced utterances. And he had the feeling that he was about to once again become fluent in the code.

Was the Buddha in power when the countries turned on Flevance? When the navy shot down Sister and his classmates? Robin had touched upon Ohara. Was Cora with him throughout all that?

Things should not distract him, though Sengoku made it clear that Cora had sacrificed his life for him, and it was a lot to take on top of Doflamingo's emotional manipulation, so could you blame him? Well, he did and would, and how could he be so fucking stupid? Kikoku clattered to the ground.

 **oOOo**

Roronoa, trying to find his way to the rapidly departing Going Luffy Sempai (Bartolomeo was certifiable) found Law's sword.

Strange. The Heart captain would never leave her. Anyone trying to get him would know to take it. Doflamingo had grabbed it when they'd lifted Law to the castle. Or maybe not. She possessed a strong energy. Maybe too strong for some.

He picked her up, she seemed distressed, but it was hard to distinguish amongst all the other banshee wails calling out for his blood. _Rest there easy, demon-witch_ \- that was one dark sword. Yet, go to the back of the queue. Ultimately, she was after Law's blood, not his. If Law slipped up. Seemed he had.

Interesting that Tashigi wasn't interested in these unranked swords - their mongrel blood tapped into an undisciplined power. Suited Law in a strange way.

Oh fuck. A rubber arm squeezed the bejesus out of him, stretching from around his waist in this small alcove all the way to the port. Zoro found himself catapulted through the air as Luffy threw him to the ship. All four swords were fine, though they landed with a clang or two, but it took some time for Zoro to regain his breath.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Doflamingo let him crawl to and curl in a corner. They had him in an open cell for a while, at first. His humiliation had to be absolute. It had bars but was more like an animal cage, set in the middle of the room, a huge concrete expanse, fluoro lights overhead. Any of the executives or officers could come and torment him or use him – with permission – and they'd keep it that way for a while.

He'd been ordered to sleep near the bars so they could poke and prod, and he obeyed. That blasphemous Jolly Roger on his back was a good target for officers wanting to improve their aim.

They chained him to the bars quite often anyway, but he was growing compliant, after less than a week. Clever Law. You could take the whore out of service, but could you ever remove the instinct to offer their arse like the buttocks of a baboon? Soon it wouldn't be necessary to chain him, the chip being enough. He'd be begging to be used.

That arm however. It would be a shame if Law lost his powers. He wouldn't be able to perform the perpetual youth surgery, so Doflamingo thought he'd get someone to look at it in the morning. He dragged a scratchy blanket off the kapok mattress that Law actually hadn't crawled too – maybe he was disoriented – and he threw it over the shaking body that pressed onto the cold concrete floor, all curled up.

Doflamingo crouched near. He knew Law had been prepared to die. He didn't think he'd been prepared to be used again after so many years of what he would call freedom, his body was another story. Doflamingo would call it mundanity, that freedom. A waste.

He flicked his hair back lightly.

"Did you enjoy that Law?"

He didn't even hesitate. It came back so quickly.

"Master."

"Are you a sick fuck, Law?"

He growled as he saw Law's eyes flick over him in judgement and he put his giant hand around Law's jaw. The shaking took on a new intensity.

"Please..."

"You aimed to kill me, Law."

Law kept his eyes down. It would have been quick. Anything to ensure the job was done.

"So not only are you a sick fuck you're a dumbfuck, right?"

"Sir," Law whispered.

"And?"

"Made to serve."

Doflamingo swept his hand softly down Law's face and tucked the blanket around him. He'd make him wash in the morning. It was not pleasant fucking a fucked body. Especially not one used as much as Law's was.

"That you are, my love."

"Thank you, Doffy."

Doflamingo leant down and gently placed his mouth over Law's and was gratified to feel the slave's mouth widen and accept him, as he'd been taught, and to send teases of tongue and lips in the way Doflamingo liked. They never fucking forgot. Whether the lip was quivering from fear or excitement made no difference.

Doflamingo ran his hand over the blanket and began to feel Law up, brushing the wool against him.

"Tired," Law dared to say when he had the chance – his voice scared and broken.

Doflamingo paused for a moment. He could push down and hurt that boy very badly. More than he already had.

"Did you enjoy yourself tonight, Law?"

"Yes, Master."

"Why?" His hand still rested over Law's dick. He applied slight pressure.

"Sick fuck." Law took in a breath, "I'm a . . ."

"And?"

"Dumbfuck."

Doflamingo took his mouth again. Drew away. Sometimes he thought this was his favourite part.

"You were slow to answer, Law. Don't forget it, and don't forget your pronouns next time."

"Sir."

"I'll let you off tonight, but you won't get another chance."

"Thank you, Sir."

Doflamingo stood and straightened. He didn't kick his subordinate, he wasn't Vergo, but the thought of fucking him again was very tempting. However, he didn't want Law to escape into the deepest recesses of his mind just yet. He wanted him all too aware and awake, so, not too much too soon.

"Good night, little bird. Tomorrow is another day."

* * *

 **A/N:** I was writing a sweeter chapter between Marco and Law today for later in the story. They do and will exist. At the moment, the story has a dark turn. We turn into the light next chapter though. I hope that the time shifts are not too confusing. As a whole, it should all come together. The story will not be entirely dark.

Background information, if required, can be found in Repossession, but make sure to read the warnings.


	7. Musicians of Bremen-Mountain Time

**A/N: Hey all,** thanks for reading. Chapter six and seven uploaded on the same day. I couldn't stand to leave you with the hurt of chapter five without some of the comfort of chapter seven.

* * *

 **Chapter seven – Musicians of Bremen**

* * *

Sengoku laid down the spare futon, had a crackling fire revved up. The wind whipped around the hut like a witch parting her hair. Just as well Law had come with spirits – both the ephemeral and ethanol kind. He actually had pretty decent taste in whiskey and it went a long way to warming both of them.

Bleat tucked in on herself in a corner of the room. Law relished the roughly hewn door – the easy access _out_ to the wide world. He'd take his chances with flimsy doors over deadbolted ones most days, depending on how much access he had to the deadbolt. But he reminded himself that seastone was the deadliest prison, a bucketful of water a close second. He could escape all else.

Law cooked. The ex-admiral wasn't a bad cook, but Law knew how tired you could get of your own repertoire. The old man lived for months with just Bleat for company. Law added some of the fresh herbs he'd picked, while climbing the mountain, to the bubbling pot he stirred.

"No hallucinogens?"

Sengoku had brought the plaits of his beard to the front, and twisted them into one mighty braid, which he now stroked. Crumbs from the crackers Law had given him clung to it. Flavoured with wasabi and cognac, the Heart captain's taste in okaki matched his taste in spirits.

"Not that kind of story, Sengoku-San." The corner of Law's mouth quirked.

The ex-admiral looked confused, but decided it wasn't worth pursuing. His stomach growled and he hoped dinner wouldn't be too much longer.

 **oOOo**

"You've always had pets?"

"No." Law supped up the gravy with the rice Sengoku had prepared. They sat at the small square pine table. It held salt and pepper, soy and a few other condiments. There was room for four chairs with the table pulled out. It was flush against a kitchen counter at present.

"That bear. That reindeer."

"Crew. Bepo's a Mink, and Chopper's Strawhat's doctor."

"Not pets then."

Law nodded, swallowed and thought how that misconception had protected them. He took a sip of his whiskey. Wiped the back of his mouth with his hand in appreciation.

You didn't want to see Bepo launch into action during a full moon. Or you did if he was on your side, but you had to be nearby with something to hide his eyes once he'd used up all his energy, and someone like Jean Bart to carry him back to the sub if Law had expended his own powers and couldn't use shambles. You needed to govern it. Shachi's sunglasses had come in handy a few times.

Tony-ya in monster or heavy point form was formidable. More importantly, he was an amazing doctor – and though pets _could_ heal, Tony was a practitioner on a whole other level.

"You like animals?"

"I do."

Sengoku filled their glasses and the two men clinked them before drinking. "They say that psychopaths have an affinity for animals and children, but few others."

Law shrugged. He'd never aimed a canon at a shipload of civilians.

"Rocinante actually did like kids."

Law rolled his eyes. The man had shown his true colours to him, but the bruises gained from make-believe hurt as much.

He looked around the hut. It was simple. Basically one room. The kitchen, the living room, the sleeping quarters, the table they were sitting at, all in one area. Sengoku's futon was laid out near his own. There was no other space.

Law had spent years in his sub in close proximity to his crew, and also sailing with the Strawhats and Shanks. He trusted his ability to defend himself if he needed to, and in choosing not to put himself in danger. He'd been mostly successful, with a few notable exceptions. His only fear was how loudly Sengoku snored.

It got dark early in the mountains and there wasn't much else to do. Law had traversed a shitload of terrain, and Sengoku's journey for supplies was not the easiest trek. Plus he was an old, old man now, though not by Dr. Kureha's standards. After a few more shots of whiskey, the two men tidied the dishes and settled down for the night.

 **oOOo**

"He shared our sweet potatoes with a stray once. Set himself on fire of course," Law said, thankful for the pillow, the warm fire, Sengoku's hospitality. Even so, Kikoku was nearby.

"Never lost that habit," Sengoku noted. "Was it his damn cigarette?"

"We were on Lvneel Island. We camped. Either there were no inns around or it would have drawn too much attention. From Doflamingo, the Barrel's Pirates, or yourselves. You and he knew more about that than I ever did."

Sengoku sighed. Roci had gone to Minion island after that. Why had he gone? He knew. But see where his kind heart got him? The only part that was true about that stupid title. Executive indeed.

"Minion Island was full of snow, but Lvneel was kind of pleasant, except I was sick, and Cora's farts could fell a horse. That _wasn't_ pleasant."

Rocinante's farts _were_ lethal. "Maybe that's why you were outside."

"Hmph. Probably. Cora gathered some fallen leaves to start a fire. He was smoking too of course, but it was the flames from the litter that caught the edges of the feathers of his coat."

Sengoku laughed from his futon. Of course it was.

Law smiled in the semi-darkness, the light from the hearth dancing over his face. "I don't really know where he got the sweet potatoes. Actually, he had all kinds of things in his backpack. A bazooka. A vase."

Sengoku wondered if Law was remembering things through a decades-old sheen. Childhood memories.

"He had light fingers. Pirate."

"Marine. Master spy."

"Yeah." Law exhaled. "Whatever. He probably picked them up from one of the stores as we hotfooted it out of whichever town as soon as we could before the marines closed in on us. The hospitals always called them." Even in Montblanc Noland's homeland.

Sengoku grunted. "He told me he wouldn't go there."

"Minion Island?" Law thought of the very many things Cora had said that weren't true. "I know."

Bleat rustled in the corner, and the wind rattled the door.

"He offered the sweet potato he'd just cooked to a little stray that had wandered into our camp. Actually, maybe it wasn't a stray, it had a collar, but it was hungry. It would have been too hot for him. I was eating mine, and I'd just burnt my tongue." Law ran it along the roof of his mouth in remembrance. "Of course the dog got mine."

"Why?"

"Had to drop it and put out the fire. Actually, it got two. Cora dropped his as well when he realised his coat was alight. Then it scarpered from the camp, dragging both of them with him. Luckily we had a few more cooking."

"You did that often." A statement, not a question.

"Dousing flames, you mean?"

"Unh."

Law smiled. "Yeah." He rolled to his side. Sengoku was on his back. He'd taken off his glasses before turning in. "When he first spoke to me – and until then I'd thought he was mute – he told me that everything was an act. The clumsiness, the ditziness. He tried to be such a hard man."

"Then he set himself on fire."

Law laughed. "An occupational hazard of being close to him was needing to develop firefighting skills."

"Don't I know it."

Law shut his eyes.

"He picked up smoking in the marines."

"He was safe?"

"Mmm. Apart from being an unintentional pyromaniac. He had no desire to see Doffy."

"But he re-joined him." Law thought how close Cora and the old man must have been for Sengoku to use the nickname without thinking. He thought about how rude he'd been to Cora, all the time, as a boy. He'd been so full of hate.

"He desired to stop him."

"Seems none of us succeeded at that task." Except for the ones to finally take him out. Law felt himself drift off.

Strange pirate, the admiral thought.

 **oOOo**

Bleat, the traitor. Marco had told him Law was a light sleeper and goats were notorious insomniacs, but Bleat had pushed herself up against the Heart captain some time in the night, and there they lay, back to back, snoring away, under the futon cover – Law must have pulled it over them, though Bleat was clever, all goats were. One of Law's hands extended from under the covers and rested on his sword, but other than that, he was sleeping peacefully, mouth wide open, drooling onto the pillow.

Usually she sought warmth from Sengoku. He'd had her since she was a kid. He rekindled the fire and hung the kettle on a hook over it. A pump connected to a stream nearby. He'd use some of the leftover rice from last night, throw in some shaved salmon and green tea, and there you had it - along with flavouring, some of the spices Law had brought – breakfast. A small generator powered his hut. He clanged a few pots together. Why should he be the only one up and the only one rejected?

Law slit his eyes open. The bed was warm. He brought the covers around him. "Sengoku-san." Was Bepo in the bed beside him?

 _Meh-eh-eh-eh_.

He jumped. Sengoku laughed.

"You didn't make her faint into bed. Scaring her to death if you couldn't seduce her?"

Law turned to face the coarse hide of Sengoku's goat. She scrambled to get up. Law felt his hair was vulnerable in that position. But she shook her body, clip-clopped over the rough floor and nosed her way out the door.

Kikoku's tassels were still intact.

"Faint?"

"Doctor Doolittle, surely you know that about goats?"

Law sat up, and shook his head. Stretched out and shivered. Fuck it was cold. He grabbed the sweater he'd removed before turning in last night and chucked on some of the warmer clothes he'd brought. He wondered about bathing. No doubt there was some ascetic freezing cold waterfall nearby. They broke the mould making these tough old men.

"Their muscles can become temporarily paralysed when they panic, then they fall over. Seems as if they faint."

"Inconvenient." And familiar. "No, I didn't make her faint. Guess she couldn't resist my charisma." He yawned and rubbed at his eyes. "I hear they're great swimmers."

"You're not taking her."

"Not sailing nowadays, anyway, and the sub wouldn't be suitable, of course." Plus, Mercury would be jealous, and Marco probably wouldn't share the bed.

Law folded the futon after pulling a few things from his bag. He stored it in the small alcove where Sengoku had already put his own. Sengoku had a hot pot of tea ready at the table.

"How long you staying, Law?"

"A week okay?" He pulled out a chair, sat down.

Sengoku grunted. "Can't promise we won't be without company."

Law lifted an eyebrow.

"What can I say? I'm a popular guy."

Akainu was gone. Kizaru was under Fujitora's watchful eye. He was actually on good terms with Tsuru, Tashigi and Smoker. Garp. He didn't know much about him, but just figured he'd shamble his way out of his effusiveness if it came to that. Sengoku, as a retired admiral, would not happily greet Doflamingo, he gathered, and the bastard was long gone anyway. So he figured he could deal with anyone who joined them if it came to that. Aokiji.

"How old is Bleat?"

"We got her soon after Roci joined me."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

The goats of Drum Island had been bred for years to live with humans. Sure, goats had the longest history of domesticity in the world, but Drum goats _could_ be kept in the house, were trained, and lived at least a third of Doctor Kureha's own current lifespan. Perfect mascots, companions and pets. Though they still had a tendency to chew and to climb everything.

"Her mother had twins, rejected this one." Kureha placed the cardboard box on Sengoku's table. She'd made a special trip. "The vet found it huddled in the corner of the pen. Don't know how I ended up looking after it, but gave it milk seven, eight times a day – and night – until it pulled through."

Sengoku looked at the white kid curled inside, snuggled into some old dog blankets.

"She only needs milk about four times a day now. Should be weaned onto hay and other grains by about week six. The milk's got the nutrients she needs, same as she'd get from her mother."

"How old is she?" She was a wee thing. She bleated softly and pushed her nose into Sengoku's palm.

"Two weeks."

"What makes you think I want it?"

Kureha patted him on the shoulder. "That boy of yours."

 **oOOo**

Rocinante came into his office after his classes. He was still a quiet, shocked kid. Sengoku wasn't sure what had happened, but to say he was distressed when he'd come across him was to put it mildly. He hadn't been dressed for the snow that was piling up, and he had bruises all over him, old scars. It looked like someone had taken aim with an arrow – burns from fire and old rope burns on his wrists. Although the snow had washed a lot off, he was also blood-spattered. Not just blood-spattered, flecks of gore stuck to his skin and hair.

They hadn't been able to get much out of him, except to find out that he had no relatives, or no relatives he wanted to claim. He'd been with Sengoku six months, and though his teacher said he completed classwork quickly and correctly, he seemed excessively clumsy and still rarely spoke.

Rocinante silently entered Sengoku's work space after knocking. He placed his bag on the couch, before walking back to the door to close it properly. That door was heavy, but before he got halfway there, the bag slipped to the floor, pens, pencils, a half-eaten sandwich, text books, falling out. He rushed back and started frantically gathering them.

Sengoku stood up and crouched near him. This boy was going to be tall, but the admiral loomed over him at this point. He held the bag open so Rocinante could return the items, but then wrinkled his nose and peered into it instead. There were more sandwiches in the bag. Mouldy sandwiches.

"Not eating lunch?"

Rocinante looked down. "Don't like bread." All that he and Doflamingo, his mother and father, had been able to survive on was rotten food, and the bakery tipped its waste into the dump after it had sat at the back of the shop for a day or two. He couldn't shake the taste, the association, even if Sengoku picked up their bread first thing in the morning.

The admiral put a palm on the young boy's face, and he didn't flinch or draw away. He was very trusting, despite something terrible having happened. "Then you don't have to eat it."

"Really?" Sengoku lifted his fringe so he could see his eyes. They had a strange reddish-brown burn to them, and were hopeful.

"Of course. What do you like?"

"I don't like pizza."

"Okay, no pizza. How about stuff I can give you?"

"Lettuce, cabbage, umeboshi."

Sengoku laughed. "Well, my little rabbit. We'll see what we can do."

 _Meh-eh-eh-eh_.

Rocinante's head shot up, forgetting all about food. Sengoku helped him pack his school supplies back into his bag, throwing the sandwiches in the bin first, and tipped his head toward the box. The baby goat had mostly slept after Doctor Kureha left, Sengoku taking it to his lap for the occasional feed. Rocinante approached it, hesitantly. Needing to stand on tippy-toes.

"Ohh."

Sengoku figured the gasp was positive. "It's okay. You can pet it, and soon we can feed it."

"It?"

"She. Her. Her mother didn't want her."

"You know how to feed her?"

"Dr. Kureha showed me."

"She's a vet?"

"Crazy doctor, but she showed me how." And left him with a bottle of rum for his troubles, but made sure that she picked up a bottle of scotch in return, a particular brand she'd had her eye on for some time.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"They live that long?" That was before Law was even born.

"Comes from the same place as Kureha."

"Aah."

Law thought that he and Marco might have to seek out Drum Island the next time they needed a dog. Though they got them from the haven for a reason.

Sengoku ladled him some ochazuke, and Law took it with thanks, lifting the bowl to his lips and supping the tea, salmon and rice broth.

"Bleat liked him?"

"He liked Bleat. It was mutual. A kid and a kid. Rocinante looked after her, and she'd seek out his bed. He'd have these bruises on his face where her hooves clipped him in the night until we trained her to sleep away from him, like she was with you this morning. Marine base was rough, and Roci went into training pretty early, but everyone thought I was doling out my own version of Garp's tough love."

Luffy had mentioned it.

"Despite the bruises he got from her, it was the first time I saw Rocinante smile."

"He had quite the smile."

"Yes, it's true."

.

"You think my tattoos are ugly?" Law asked, lowering the breakfast dish to the table.

"Haven't met one I've liked yet."

Law shook the flash of the bushido design, the intricate flower pattern that adorned half of Akainu's chest, from his mind.

"Kizaru ruined the one on my back, but the front one's still intact."

"I should care?" What did any of this have to do with Bleat?

Law nodded. "The centrepiece, it's the same as my Jolly Roger."

Sengoku recalled the pictures. The smiling face surrounded by a heart. "What's up with the hearts?"

"He liked them."

"I never saw him wear them, except for undercover."

"It's the only way I knew him. That was his name."

"That wasn't his name!" Sengoku hit the table. A chopstick fell to the floor. "That ridiculous make-up. That bunch of clowns you ran with."

Law remained calm. It was how he knew him. There were worse things to admire than a heart. "You had photos?"

Sengoku took a few deep breaths, shot a look of apology and nodded. "Childhood, graduation, the one I sent you for his undercover work. You know I did."

"I didn't have any until you sent that. The last thing I saw was that smile, same smile as in the photo. It scared me half to death." Law ran his fingers in some ocha that had spilt to the table. "Twice he smiled like that. Vergo had beaten me. Us. I was just gaining consciousness. I guess it's how Cora wanted me to remember him. He was missing a tooth. He wasn't in good shape."

"Tell me more." Sengoku growled. He remembered the photo of his protégé abandoned in the snow.

Law's face was grim but his voice steady. "He got shot stealing the fruit. It went perfectly, but you know, he tripped." Cora's Achilles heel. "Even so, he stuffed that foul-tasting thing down my throat, and it's one of the reasons I'm here today."

"Mmph."

Over the years they'd spoken, but there was a lot they'd never discussed. If Law was guilty of bringing Vergo to Cora, Sengoku was as guilty for having sent him to the region. Neither of them could have known.

"If Vergo hadn't attacked, he probably would have survived."

"If you'd found another marine."

"If."

Both men took a mouthful of their tea.

"You know from your reports. Doflamingo released his birdcage and Cora knew there was no escape. He told me there was but there wasn't. I wanted to believe him though. Believe there was an alternative."

Bleat nosed her way back into the hut, tail wagging, wondering if her humans might come out for some fresh mountain air. She leaned against Law's thigh, and he tried to pull the material of his slacks away from her. He hung a tea-towel from the edge of the table for her to nibble on instead.

Sengoku picked it up and put it out of Bleat's and Law's way. "It's not good for her digestion. Why don't you feed her your hat?"

Law scowled. "Where's that seagull thing you used to wear. Did it fall prey to her appetite?"

"Get on with the story."

It was important. Law didn't begrudge the old man's directness. He moved Kikoku slightly, away from the goat's curiosity.

"At least with Doflamingo I wasn't running from marines. We had to run from skirmishes, and Tsuru was always after us, but the crew had my back."

"Until you did something wrong."

"Unh."

Though Law was recaptured back then too – he really had to question his strategic and stealth skills – so that particular security ended abruptly.

"Cora-san pushed me into a trunk, and hoped it would protect me, that his bond with Doflamingo would protect him. Neither one worked, though Cora's calm-ability kept my presence hidden for a time."

"You heard him get shot?"

"Yes. I saw him lying in the snow as the Family carted the trunk away. They didn't know I was in it. I couldn't stop wailing. Obviously they heard me once - -"

"Rocinante stopped breathing."

Law nodded.

"He smiled, I guess he wanted me to remember it, he smiled as he fitted me into that space, closed that lid on me. Craziest thing. The last living thing I saw of him was that."

And he remembered the accompanying words. Law didn't find his tattoos ugly in the least.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading**. A quieter, softer chapter for our boy after all he went through in chapters 5 and 6, even if that was in the past-past-past. All forms of feedback are appreciated.


	8. Troy-Red Force (LawMarco, Shanks)

**Chapter Eight – Troy (You should have left the light on)**

* * *

For all that was good and holy, what had his pirate got into now? Sweet mother of god, Oyaji would roll in his grave at the situations his Cool, Calm, _and_ Collected First Division Commander seemed to be facing of late, one after the other.

Law told him that arm had given him trouble ever since his captivity.

Years before, what had been left of Whitebeard's forces, along with a lot of power-brokers on either side of the Grand Line, had kept an eye and ear out for the news reports of marine forces descending upon Dressrosa: The reports of Punk Hazard having been destroyed, Caesar Clown's disappearance, the disruption of the Underworld and of two of the Worst Generation – Trafalgar Law and Ace's brother – being responsible.

It hadn't surprised Marco, but those kids sure knew how to kick up a ruckus. Whether they _knew_ what they were doing was another thing. Izou and Vista hadn't stopped complaining.

A year after the Payback War, Marco and his men were still regrouping and reviewing strategy. Teach becoming a yonkou really took the cake. So it had been gratifying after their defeat at the hands of Blackbeard's forces - considering Doflamingo's ties with Kaido, and that he'd manipulated Whitebeard commanders at Marineford with his strings - that things seemed to be going pear-shaped for the smug bastard.

Then all lines of communication to the outside world were cut and no-one had a clue what was going on. Once transmissions were reopened, information received was scant, especially about the terms of Doflamingo's imprisonment, and no-one reported, or knew, that Law's arm had been severed clean through. Maybe clean was too kind a word.

As Law explained it, Doflamingo had used a fret-saw-string, the kind that left a ragged break between sinew and skin. His fairly brand-new lover had been helped by the magical folk of the area, Princess Mansherry and the dwarf Leo. Their reattachment of his arm had been rough, but was effective. What had really screwed up the healing was Doflamingo binding and chaining Law for hours, and chipping him so his devil's fruit couldn't come into play once he was recaptured.

"Hell no." Marco's ears pricked at Law's words. Cannons whistled overhead and around the Red Force as some piece-of-garbage marine flotilla had decided it was good enough to challenge Shanks' haki, and any Whitebeards or Hearts who were with the Red Hair crew at the time.

And maybe parts of it were good enough, because they'd boarded the ship, and flying shrapnel had lodged itself in Lucky Roo's cheek. Law, his Room maintained, was working to stop him from choking on the chicken bone stuck in his mouth, and to quickly fix the wound. The huge man had lost consciousness.

Marco peered down from aerial combat. Some two-bit minion approached the Heart captain with the zealous gleam of the newly converted. Law's bounty was still healthy. Akainu and Kizaru were still after his head. The doctor's Room faltered. He drew his Nodachi with his non-dominant hand. He was good with both, but Marco knew that the arm that had been severed had just seized. When his limbs weren't working in tandem, his Room was weakened, or subject to fail.

This was a new development. He'd fought the heavenly demon as an amputee, after all, and Luffy had told him all about Sterben blade. An attack carried out with Law's amputated arm - - now _that_ was hardcore, and also not reported.

But Luffy, Law, Marco, and other fruit users knew they cut their lives short by overusing their powers, and along with that was the possibility of short-circuiting ability. Also, two years of seastone filtering through Law's body had been a hell of a lot. They were still finding out the effects of that long-term suppression of power, and poisoning of his energy.

There were a _lot_ of possible causes for Law suddenly not being at the top of his game. This recruit didn't look like he had any skills, but without motion, Law might not either.

Of course being taken in by a rookie was preferable to being wrapped in chains by any of the fucking admirals or the Don Quixote bastards – better chance of escape, but not being taken in at all was the best option. And what if they took Lucky Roo too? Law would never forgive himself, nor would Shanks.

Marco kicked a few cannonballs from the sky, and dislodged the monkeys climbing the masts to get at Benn. Benn, along with Yassop, was picking them and others off, one by one. Everyone who could fight, was.

He honed in on Law. Did his arm just spasm? The rookie went for his gun, his hand shaking. He said something and the doc's face darkened. Vista and Izou were doing well their side of things, swinging swords about with gay abandon. Izou had no need to grab his flintlocks. It was a walk in the park for Shanks - he didn't even need to unsheathe his weapon. He just stared at the marines and they fainted. Penguin and Shachi seemed to be trying to talk the guy they were fighting into a game of poker.

Law wouldn't be able to live it down if this rookie got the better of him. Marco smiled at that, but it would be a pain in the arse to launch a rescue mission over someone so paltry. Not Law. Not to mention it would probably trigger his dark-haired lover to hell and back, and they'd have to start on all that careful work again. He didn't know how many matchstick sculptures he could endure.

If it was any consolation, other members of the crews, including Law's own, obviously thought he was more than capable of dealing with these amateurs. Which he was. If his arm hadn't just turned to custard.

With one swift kick of his clawed feet, he tossed the marine he was dealing with well away and swooped down to where Law tried _not_ to show his debilitation. Marco ploughed a claw into the lackey's belly – honestly, Law probably could have sent him sprawling with a finger-flick to his chest – and sent him careening over the balustrade and into the water below.

Marco landed on deck and ignited a circle of fire around the trio – Roo was still out. Law's eyes were angry and frustrated. Marco enveloped him in his fire, the flames licking over his arm. They'd done this before. It would be enough for now. Law did not reject his grip.

The doc's Room flared up, no problem. His nod of thanks Marco's way was curt, and his relief expressed in a minute curve of the lips, and they were back in business. Law shambled himself and Lucky Roo into the infirmary. Two pairs of slippers fell to the deck.

The Phoenix flew back to his own battles, confident that Law had enough to pull himself and any makeshift patients through

 **oOOo**

Despite his planning, Law understood that most things in his life, good and bad, occurred on a whim. Life was capricious. Cora had wanted him to be free, and when he tallied the years, it was so. But what held him back within that freedom? Because he could be held back. His own mind, and Cora's words? Circumstance? The imprint of Parasito strings and other forms of confinement, long beyond their loosening?

In the infirmary, he leant against the door, knowing he'd venture out again, his arm now at full strength, Lucky Roo recovering on the bed. Doflamingo had wanted to put Law out of his suffering on Dressrosa. _Right._ Luffy hadn't let him. Law had wanted the pink bastard to put him out of his suffering at many points over those two years. Fortunately, Doflamingo's sadism and Law's own fundamental will to live won out.

If he hadn't begged Vergo to help Cora-san, would Cora have survived, if Law had made his own way back? Maybe. He wondered if the fucktard would have cracked open that canister on his way to the ship and sent Doflamingo after them anyway. They would've had no warning in that case, but maybe they would've had time. He and Cora would have been in slightly better shape.

Or, what if Vergo suspected nothing, and had done his duty as a marine, handing the canister intact to Tsuru? He'd spent years beating himself up over trusting a marine when he'd been so, _so_ , so wary just before.

Law had no way of knowing Cora's thoughts, but he thought of Marco flying into his skirmish. Someone often _was_ there for him, again and again, though their assistance always seemed to come on the razor's edge of a hairsbreadth of the outer limits of a few periods of unbearable torture and existence. His protective spirits weren't the kindest. Couldn't they deign to rescue him a little earlier?

He glanced over at his patient. He'd soon be up, out of bed, and eating his way through the pantry.

Then there were those who didn't need to go through hell to know that someone had their back, but Law didn't begrudge them their quiet lives. He envied them.

His own survival instinct and his loyalty to family had delivered him from Flevance. After Flevance? His ability to put up with the most appalling of conditions if it spat a huge _fuck you_ into the eye of those trying to obliterate him. Still. Dead bodies jostling against his living flesh had been like dough. Cloying, sticky, fragrant in the worst possible way. He had no love for the closer scents of jasmine, frangipani, lily of the valley.

After his escape from the White City? Doflamingo. Though no saviour in the long run, he provided shelter, education and training at a point when he needed it. Cora showed him humanity and how to recognise the inhumane, and providence had put another young boy on Tsuru's ship at the same time Cora traded his life to save Law's own. But he wasn't sure if he would have survived if he _hadn't_ decided he was viper enough to approach Doflamingo's nest.

He'd helped others, but understood that Luffy had removed him from Trebol's flames and that even Cavendish had blocked Doflamingo's string bullets. Robin, too, a soft net of hands to land upon. He learnt that after the fact. Mansherry and Leo. How would he operate - pun intended - as a surgeon without use of his hands?

Ideas Doflamingo met with derision were those to hold onto. The man was a brilliant tactician and had a level of pragmatism that Law found appealing. He researched his opponents for strengths and weaknesses, but his driving need to rule at all costs, and to destroy at all costs when angered, was something Law hadn't shared for many years. Law's sadism wore a different colour. In fact, much of that reputation was gained when Law was pretty much one of the shichibukai's puppets. Though he wasn't without his moments.

So, Doflamingo could sneer all he wanted when Law stated that everything he did until the day he died was because of Cora-San, was in that man's memory, but it was true – no matter that Joker had promptly sawed his arm off after that declaration – that level of cruelty would in no way temper his belief. Law didn't regard himself as naive or foolish. One could destroy, self-destruct, or possibly aid. Survive, maybe even thrive. It was difficult not to listen, but he could try.

Law was good at acknowledging help and giving thanks. Sometimes his crew thought he deflected so much they wondered if others knew how pivotal he was to their success.

This system with the Phoenix benefited him. It might be a lifesaver, though with their combined efforts he hoped to heal enough for it not come to that. He had more than enough time for those who didn't tie him to them with Joker's form of possessiveness. Ownership. For those that helped him when needed.

He knew Cora had thought carriers of the initial D were natural enemies of the gods, of the Celestial Dragons, the World Nobles. What he couldn't know was that Cora had also thought the rightful gods, guiding spirits, had taken him under their wings.

He picked up Kikoku, no planning in sight, cranked up a Room and landed himself in the heart of the battle. It was show time.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"Did I ever tell you of the time I cut off Shanks' other arm?"

Bleat rested her head on Law's lap as he sat at the table. She really was fickle, but Sengoku had seen the way their dogs followed him around too. He took some heart in the fact that she was probably chewing on the edges of his shirt and he reminded himself that he _was_ salty with her for having eaten the seagull cap.

"Was I retired?"

"Yeah. It was when I was sailing with the Red Force."

"My intel was pretty limited then, though I was on that ship when Jack the Drought attacked it."

"Long after. But in the same way you guys didn't let many people know Doflamingo hadn't been captured, I don't think Shanks was too keen on the news getting out. Me neither."

Luckily Luffy only laughed when he'd heard about it, but it could have swung either way.

"Do tell."

"He suckered punched me with haki so hard that Kikoku ended up in Benn's grasp. Not a good situation for me. But my Room was still up, so once I got my breath back and sweet-talked Benn into returning my sword, I could reattach the arm."

"It was an accident?"

"Of course."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Law landed in the fray with Kikoku drawn and, hardly looking, bisected nearly all the intruders with one graceful motion. He decapitated them, and threw them into the ocean, out of the reach of his Room. If the torsos could find the other parts, they might be able to reassemble.

And Shanks' arm. He took off his arm. And the tip of Bepo's ear. And toppled a minor mast. He didn't throw any of those into the sea, and Shanks' arm handily caught the ear tip.

He looked for the marine who'd approached him when he was tending to Lucky Roo. He was back on board one of the ships. He shambled him over, swapping him with a shoe left behind by one of the dismembered marines.

The recruit was just a kid, and he was shaking more than he had when he'd held that gun toward him. He didn't have that gun now, Law had made sure of it. The Heart pirate pushed him up against the wall, a tattooed premonition wrapped around his throat and, without a Room, slit it. Quick, effective – he didn't believe in pain for its own sake. Marco hovered overhead, wondering whether to intervene.

Law's bounty poster was embellished on a regular basis with so-called factual details, provided by Doflamingo, colluding with Akainu and Kizaru's copywriters, drumming up any salacious rumours and reputation they wanted to belittle him with, feeding the page three sensibilities of the maritime world. What did he owe the marines? Yes, there was Cora, Smoker ... but right now, with so many uniforms in his direct vision, he could _not_ think straight.

This little turd had no one to impress, no-one he needed to big-note himself to around. Yet, he'd aimed his shaking gun at Law as he'd tended Lucky Roo's wounds, a very unconscious prostrate Roo, and stated Law would be in a similar position after capture. Flat on his back. Maybe he meant nothing by it, but Law wasn't in the mood to discuss semantics.

Sailing with the crew, using his medical skills, he'd forget. Face to face with the fucking navy, they never forgot.

He knew he needed to placate Shanks for being so careless with his limbs, so he sucked hundreds of shoes from the ocean with Scan, landed them on the Red Force, and then sent them to the marine ships, replacing them with enough food and booze for the allied crews for a couple of weeks. Good booze.

All marine ships were the same, so he had some idea of the layout, and he raided the captains' supplies. He hoped he got a few important papers as well as a few posters, in addition to the perishables.

Then he was flying through the air, hurled against the outside walls of the galley. Fuck. No breath. Benn wrenched Kikoku from his very loose grip, and the blade was now a pin-prick caress against his throat. He laughed. Honestly. It was funny. What the fuck more could he get himself into? He'd never meant to hurt Shanks and, with his power, he actually hadn't.

Bepo wailed, clutching his ear, even though he, like Shanks, knew their wounds didn't hurt in the Room still had up. Law was surrounded by food and drink. It wasn't fun having Kikoku resting on his skin. She hated him, and he wasn't sure that Benn was aware. The first mate being able to handle her with ease was impressive though. She was kind of bloodthirsty for his demise, so the sooner she _wasn't_ pushed into the side of his neck, the happier he would be. Room or no Room.

It was a little difficult to take Shanks seriously when he was just a torso on legs - except he wasn't headless - but Law obviously had to. The man had just thrown him about like a rag doll, using will alone. His own crew didn't know whether to tackle the Red Hairs. Law shook his head. He loved his crew, and Shanks could dispose of them in the ocean with a blink of his very scarred eye. Luckily they could all swim. Unlike him. He hoped Shanks didn't decide that was apt punishment.

Marco had the sense to get the Red Force moving, righting the fallen mast, and Penguin convinced Benn to return Kikoku so Law could fix Shanks. When all was said and done, Law offered Shanks the best of the commanding marine's sake with the most contrite expression he could muster but, damn it, if there wasn't a wild glint in his eye.

Not one to hold a grudge, and knowing Law hadn't mutilated him purposely, and knowing that the mutilator had the top rice wine in the land in his hand, and another ten bottles stockpiled behind him, went a long way towards Shanks deciding upon forgiveness.

Yet, he wondered at the papers he'd witnessed Law hastily stuffing into his pocket and his sudden attack on the young marine.

"Okay, Trafalgar?"

"Sorry," Law said, but Shanks had the feeling the fight was good for him.

Yassop came over. "You got 'em. The bounty posters." He bent down and started sorting through a pile of papers near Law's feet.

The Heart captain looked away. Damn. Not fast enough.

The wind scattered some about the ship, but Yassop stood and leafed through the ones in his hand. Marco's, Jozu's, Benn's, Lucky Roo's, Izou's - "The Corrupter of the North. The fuck?" That was some bounty though, but the crimes made your lip curl. Escaped slave, huh?

The other pirates gathered around, and Law closed in on himself. The sea could have died under his glare.

"Burn it," Shanks said.

Benn took it from Yassop and took his lighter to the edge, but kept an eye on the Heart captain entrusted to their care. Even if the person entrusting was a brat half their age, if not a third.

.

"Captain!" Bepo whined.

Ah. Law had forgotten. He relaxed his shoulders, his glance and stance, and beckoned the Mink closer, and he tipped his furry head down. What happened in the Room could usually be fixed in the Room, so he held Bepo's ear tip to the ear until the flesh and fur fused once again.

"I'm sorry, friend."

Beppo ran his jowls along Law's cheeks, as was the Mink custom, and all was right.

 **oOOo**

"I think I like your meticulous, careful persona a little better, Trafalgar." Shanks slurped down a bowl of sake and made sure that all his men had some after a very successful and quick battle, not to mention bountiful, due to Law's flashpoint. Of course they could have wiped out the marines easily prior to that, but it had been fun to play with them. Life on the seas could be tedious. "But it's good to know that my haki's effective even when I'm incapacitated."

"I got a little carried away."

Law glanced up at the generous red haired skipper. Benn was still uncomfortably close, and Law had the feeling he'd refuse all help with the crossword tomorrow. His own crew now had his back, and they'd probably be taking him to the sub soon. Marco just rested easy, way up in the air on the boom of a mast, swinging his legs. It was under control. Law would be fine, and Law was grateful for his attitude.

"Sit."

Law stood and sat closer to the emperor and Shanks was reminded of his own conversation with Whitebeard many years before, though this young one wasn't anywhere near the same level. He'd train him up. Unlike Ace, perhaps Law knew the limit of his strengths. He was a smart man, he knew the strengths of his enemies too. Shanks knew he'd never meant to maim him.

He gestured for Penguin, Shachi and Bepo to sit too, Benn, Yassop and the fresh-from-the-infirmary Lucky Roo. He gestured for Marco to fly down, and beckoned over Jozu, Vista and Izou.

"Sit."

They did. Or crouched, or rested against any walls available. The marine flotilla was slowly pulling itself together in the distance, once Law's sphere of influence faded. They were too far away now to be a threat. Marco remained where he was. It was comfortable. He could hear what was going on perfectly fine.

"Cooks."

Shachi came forward. The Whitebeard cook and Shanks' own.

"Victory!" the Red Hair shouted, propelling his sake cup into the air.

He indicated to one of his own men to give all of the crew present a glass, a cup, a receptacle, and he filled them with the best sake, and it was fine sake.

"Drink up, and prepare the banquet. Law's got the goods behind him."

Crazy bastard. Law smiled.

.

"Ah. Come here Doctor Death."

He did. Closer yet. Benn took bottles of the lesser booze Law had requisitioned, and cups, mugs and glasses. With three crews, they always seemed to have enough. He passed all around, and those who weren't roped into helping the cooks quickly downed their portions and went for seconds.

.

Law sat in front of Shanks. Marco peered down again, before descending to join Vista and his crew in the celebration.

"Thanks for taking care of Lucky Roo."

Law nodded. He'd almost failed him.

"We'll train you up, kid, so that none of it matters."

Law nodded again.

"You know that more than most, though the bounty they have for you is impressive."

"The "crimes" are not."

"But you didn't care before. You don't need to care now."

Shanks passed over the sake and Law poured for both of them. His past hadn't been detailed in this way before. It was easier not to care.

"You're meant to be a rude bastard."

"I'm not good with small talk." But he was good with social graces when he felt they were warranted. Doflamingo had schooled him in all the intricacies. In his freedom, he chose when to apply them, though he should have let Shanks pour for him if he was strictly sticking to protocol.

"Boa Hancock, she has a similar background to you, maybe Luffy told you."

Law looked up.

"It's not common knowledge."

Whereas Law's was.

"We don't want our painful moments to be common knowledge. But she's never let it hold her back, and she just keeps moving forward."

Law understood.

"Your crewmates are slaves."

"Were."

"Yes."

"Not Penguin, nor Bepo."

"But you helped them. You helped them out."

"I did."

"I know slitting the throat of that recruit eased something, but you won't sleep easy."

He recalled the boy he'd see at Doflamingo's palatial home on his occasional visits for business. He looked at Law's face, what he could see of his body. One needed to only run an eye over his skin to know why he took a knife to the marine.

"But you inherited the lessons of the brother, not the master."

"Learned."

"Yes.

"You have a home. We can't keep you safe forever, and you've got enough tricks in your toolbox to take pretty good care of yourself. But just as you looked out for Luffy, I'll keep an eye out, Law, arms or no arms."

Law smiled at the thought of Shanks barking at the Hobyahs like the unbelieving peasants' dog in the children's fairytale. Only, that dog, deprived of all its legs, hadn't had haki. It was plucky, though.

"Doffy always said that those who dispensed justice were those with power."

"Those who manufacture justice are those with power. It doesn't mean that justice is done."

Again Law nodded.

"And you know the difference. You've worked to make a difference. It's important."

Shanks paused a moment to take a sip of the sake that had surely been made from the purest of waters and the freshest of rice. Goddamn, Trafalgar had done well.

"Maybe we lose families when we're young, and our ideals can be all bent out of shape when we're older, but those who love you, love you well, Surgeon of Death." Shanks raised his bowl for Law to tap his own against. So different from drinking with Whitebeard. Law and he were similar heights for one thing.

"You might have been rash today, but I admire what you don't say. I like your humility, even though you're an audacious fucker. Benn has this too. This level-headedness. Maybe more. He's never taken my arm off." Shanks slurped back on the sake. "How much credit did you give Luffy for any adventure you've been through?"

Law's mouth twitched. "Most of it." Rightfully gained.

"I see. You're an idiot, of course. But who wouldn't want you affiliated with their crew?"

"People who value their appendages?"

 **oOOo**

If anyone had asked him who defeated the marines that day he would have said dumb luck and Marco's foresight.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading.** Marines being complete and utter bastards are detailed in chapters 2, 14 and 15 of _Repossession_. Not easy reading. Also touched upon in _Teaspoons_ , chapter 12 (on A03 due to explicitness). Sorry for the repetition. I need to get out of this world. Akainu and Kizauru also detailed in _Repossession_.

The co-healing of Marco and Law, or more so, just of Marco healing Law, is a major part of one of the chapters of _Shambles_ by over on FFN, though I have independently touched upon a connected idea in _Birds of a Feather_ , but the concept has influenced me. I have developed this idea further in future chapters. Law and Marco work in tandem.


	9. Ladybird - Mountain Time - Various

**Chapter nine: Ladybird, Ladybird, Fly Away Home**

* * *

"Seems that pirates don't like being chained up."

"There are better ways to pass the time."

Sengoku and Law walked along a pebbled mountain path, a cold clear light-blue stream running beside them. Neither would venture in. Bleat had no such hesitation, and dipped in and out, shaking water all over the two every time she re-emerged.

" _A-ra_. You're worse than Mercury." Marco and Law's third dog plunged into the water at any opportunity. Neither devil fruit user could go after her, so just as well she was a good swimmer. It didn't help with the ear infections.

He'd have to contact the Phoenix later if possible.

"You wear that silver band to hide the marks?"

Law looked down at his bangle, and then at Sengoku, hard. This old man.

"None of your business."

Sengoku chomped down on his rice crackers.

"You sure are showy, you pirates. Not to mention prickly."

Law stopped. Bleat bumped into him. He patted her head and she trotted around him. He started on the path again, and gave Sengoku, now in front of him, a once over.

Shades of monochrome, with a touch of detail here and there, was Law's usual island-living style. Though white wasn't really part of his wardrobe. His dress was a lot more subdued after the Kid attack, and it hadn't been too loud before. The trouble with Marco led him to not giving a fuck and loosening up some, but his version of free and easy was nothing compared to the ex-admiral.

The Largha seal patterned jeans had maybe been a bit much for some, and the feathered collars, but they were pretty tame, even compared to Marco, with his golden belts, aquamarine sashes and leg dressings. Roman sandals. There were Law's earrings - but again, nothing outlandish. The tatts. Maybe showy, when he displayed them.

He understood that Cora wasn't on the cutting edge of fashion when Sengoku raised and knew him, his overt days of being a marine, but he recalled the man's eclectic style with fondness. If Law wore white, it was as an undershirt, or the occasional t-shirt. He might have coveted that jacket, but not those chinos.

Sengoku was _still_ decked out in board shorts. He and Shanks. _Che_. Flowered Hawaiian shirt, and baggy shorts covered with skipping goats. The old man strode on, hairy, spindly legs jutting out from _that_. Law guessed he should be thankful he wasn't wandering around in a vertical-horizontal stripes combo - with a checked tie - especially as he was trailing behind him. Though it could possibly be an improvement.

"Who gets all Buddha-bling when he changes shape?" Law called out.

Sengoku turned around and grumbled as Law caught him up. "My fruit is the _Golden_ Buddha."

"That's what it's called?"

"No, but if you're going to be a deity, only precious metals will do."

"You guys with god-complexes." Law shook his head and kept walking, smiling, "Fat, fucking, Golden Buddha."

.

"I guess it's not very comfortable, being suspended in chains."

Ah. He was really pushing his buttons. The bangle glinted as he adjusted Kikoku.

"We chained Nico Olvia. Tortured her too, of course."

Now Law just let out a sigh. "Did it get you what you wanted?" He wondered if Robin had the chance to talk with Sengoku at any point.

"Roci liked her. Maybe she reminded him of his mother. He'd visit, with the goat. Bleat was about eight or nine then. Nico wouldn't talk with him much. Didn't have much time for us.

"But he came home one day with tales of a woman who wore a shirt covered with hearts, Nico's fellow scholar. I mean, I know corazon was his position title with that bastard, so Rocinante's attire made sense, but I wonder if he got some of his clothing ideas from her. Rin? Tint? Rint? Can't remember her name."

Even though Sengoku was probably responsible for Rint's death, it eased the dull pain, still there, of witnessing that photo slowly materialising from the transponder fax. _Please confirm. A Don Quixote executive is among the deceased_.

The marines on the ground on Minion Island probably determined just which executive from the hearts on Roci's shirt, but rather than his dress showing his affiliation to an unforgiving pirate clan, Sengoku liked to think of that scholar in Ohara and her pursuit of knowledge rather than power.

 **oOOo**

Nico Olvia slid open the secret compartment behind the library shelves in the 5000 year old Tree of Knowledge, and hefted a rifle from the wall. She carried it easily, and knew how to use it well, as did all the higher scholars of Ohara. Like the Gorosei, they knew there was value in protecting knowledge, and danger.

 **oOOo**

The poneglyphs were important and scholars and explorers sailed the world seeking information, trying to confirm their existence. Copies of the symbols etched onto them were made in the hope that one day they could be deciphered again, and indeed, some seemed to have attained that knowledge.

Pedro was assigned his task by Nekomamushi, the cat-viper, who along with his co-leader on Zou, had sailed with Roger and Whitebeard and discovered some of the secrets of the Void Century.

The jaguar Mink had been too young to go with Roger when he'd visited Zou, but he struck out on his own when he was older, and though he wasn't a pirate when he started, he became one when the government deemed him so after realising he was searching for the poneglyphs. Like all Minks, Pedro and his friend Zepo were born warriors.

 **oOOo**

"The only weapons in this house are those for fighting disease, and those for fixing the sick and injured."

Law sat by his father, learning about the human body. He had to help him with his research to find a cure for Lamie. He talked too much, but mostly he liked listening to him.

"How about investigation?"

His father glanced at him. Law wondered if he was looking too serious again.

"You mean like dissecting a frog to see how it works? As long as it doesn't suffer, as long as there's a greater purpose to its death."

The young boy wondered at which point death was painless.

 **oOOo**

"Will we take our pistols with us, Father?"

Homing ran his hand over the hair of both his sons. Doflamingo pulled away, as always.

"Dolfamingo, Rocinante, we'll have little need for them. We go in peace, and will be received in the same spirit."

 **oOOo**

"Eliminate them."

" . . . fiends. Imagine scholars straying from the righteous path."

"She was too soft to aim for the heart."

"Make the Buster call. Ohara has learned too much."

"If even one turncoat historian is hidden among the evacuees, it's one too many. Sink the ship."

"Hup, Vice-Admiral Akainu, _Sir!_ "

 **oOOo**

Their ends weren't that different. Zepo hadn't given up his life directly for Pedro's, but that was how it panned out. And if Pedro was to give up his life for the dawning of the new era, for the Strawhats, to give Zepo's brother a chance, then so be it. He lit the fuse to his dynamite belt.

 **oOOo**

"Uh -It's only resear-."

"- - _not_ contagious."

"Please, our children."

"Let us say good..."

 **oOOo**

The citizens wouldn't grovel. Didn't they know who he was? Where was his gun? Just as well Trebol had access to such things.

"Why did you take away the power I had?"

Roci left the shack covered in his father's blood. Doflamingo's hand hadn't shaken throughout and now it was done. Now he could regain his rightful place, reclaim the birthright his father had so foolishly thrown away.

 **oOOo**

"We can dissect things in the pursuit of knowledge. We can educate them to die for us. We can forgive them with a bullet, Law. Even with a gun in hand, some are too weak to pull the trigger. Remember that."

 **oOOo**

The feline Minks, and others allied with Nekomamushi, (the most poisonous of snakes, the bravest of warriors, the most garrulous lover of lasagna), operated through the night, while Inurashi's Minks claimed the daylight hours. Unification was best, but apart from nocturnal habits, there was more than one reason Pedro's crew was called Nox pirates. No matter how much Perospero taunted him as he escorted him, half blind now, back to Zou under lock and key - the new era was imminent.

Just before dawn was _not_ the clearest of times, nor was it the darkest. Night led to awakening. Nox _could_ be equated with hope.

 **oOOo**

* * *

 _Walk Onward Law. Don't let them see you. Move silently but surely. there's nothing left in this world to hold you down. Not the Iron Borders of the White City. Not your cursed Lifespan. Nobody will hold you back any longer_.*

* * *

 ***** From canon. This translation is on the wiki fandom page.

* * *

 **A/N** : Thanks for reading. An early post this week

I am not sure if this chapter is working, but in it I wanted to contrast a few things, but especially the way that it didn't seem to matter whether the more peaceful members of One Piece were armed or not, capable of using weapons or not, the darker forces usually won out. Also, what is the definition of protecting and seeking out knowledge, and I guess of knowledge?

Pedro has not made an appearance in this fic before, so I don't know how well his little section fits. It's again, more so, the seekers of knowledge being persecuted and demonised that I wanted to highlight. We're still not 100% sure of his fate in canon, though manga seems to be mourning him, and I know I have him alive in _Bepo's Wedding_ , so maybe we'll just ignore that one shot for the purpose of this multi-chap. As this fic is linked with _Repossession_ , Law never made it to Zou the first time around.

This is the kind of world Law and his compatriots of a few generations has been born into. Pretty interested in how much responsibility Sengoku has or feels for the unfolding of events under his rule. I wanted to put in a few quotes from Kuzan and Saul for Robin too. Maybe in future chapters.

Law's interactions with clothes (psychological reactions) can be found in _Teaspoons_ on AO3 _,_ and a little in _Birds of a Feather,_ found on FFN  
Cora's shirt is very similar to Rint's shirt in pattern. Check out the wiki.


	10. Dancing Horses-Captivity (Law,Vergo)

**A/N:** **Warning** : This is a **_tough_** chapter. Law does get hurt. Please _**don't**_ read if it will upset you. Explicit for rape and sexual assault. **Please take note** of the warning and proceed accordingly.

I usually put the tough chapters up in tandem with a softer one. Readers can probably proceed to the next chapter without too much confusion. Though considering how much I'm playing with times, I'm not certain.

* * *

 **Warnings:** Rape and sexual assault. Mature and explicit themes. Please take note and proceed accordingly

* * *

 **Chapter Ten: Bring on the Dancing Horses**

* * *

Dellinger's heels clicked over the concrete. The cell sat in the middle of the room. Just the cell. The fluorescent light bore down, single strips punctuating the ceiling, one sputtering and flickering directly over the cage. Doflamingo had a table set up _in_ the cell - it was sizeable – only the best for Law, as always.

Busy reading some of the documents in front of him, Doflamingo picked up a pen to lazily sign others. His feathered coat hung over the back of the chair. Dellinger had heard he'd have the table removed later, and he believed it. There was no way the Young Master could put up with that crackling light for long. The half-fishman wondered at a pinging noise that filled the room, like pressure in a water pipe. That was kind of annoying too, but it didn't seem to bother their boss.

He placed papers in front of him, and Doflamingo looked up with casual thanks as Dellinger waited for his signature. A pretty constant dull thudding sound accompanied the pinging, and also – that could only be onii-chan – a choked, sloppy noise. Like some fatty fighting his own constricted pathways just for a taste of air. Spit, skin and motion. _Distress_? Mmm, maybe a little.

While the documents were being read, Dellinger peered around the cell trying to locate the source. Vergo's haki form was always impressive. He could only see it from the back, at the other end of the cell. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed him when he'd entered, but then again, Doflamingo was mesmerising. Even so, those massive shoulders, his tapered waist, the fitted trousers were awe-inspiring.

Vergo's shirt was off. One hand gripped a bar – it almost bent under his strength – and he guessed the other held Law's hair. He couldn't see clearly past the executive to make sure.

The movement of Vergo's hips was sensual, functional, non-stoppable, so powerful. The squishy, pained muffled utterances he could hear coming from that corner – squawks? Was that why Young Master called him little bird? – must be Law.

He could see one of Law's legs - shin, ankle, calf - clothed in black trousers, but barefoot, as always. Jora had painted his toes, and boy was that leg restless. Crooked like Bo-beep's staff, as if Law had been practicing some esoteric kind of meditation, it bounced uncontrollably - _not_ in time with Vergo's poetry. Torture? Fear? _Tchh_. There was no room for _that_ in the Family. He wondered if Law realised how funny he looked, how funny he sounded.

Ah, that dull thudding was his head smacking the bars. It made sense now. The pinging? Metallic? Earrings? Cuffs? What had the silly boy done to have his hands chained to the bars? Well, existing was reason enough, of course.

Occasionally the rhythm broke into something more frantic, and Law's pathetic rasp intensified, and Dellinger knew the traitor was either resisting – even more foolish – or Vergo had stepped things up. Maybe both.

Dellinger giggled, mouth wide, eyes bright. Just look at Vergo go. Dressrosa really had hurt his family, and they'd done _nothing_ to Law prior to his attack. They'd taken him in when he was younger, saved him, trained him, created a home, just like they had for Dellinger. Law had turned his back on them all. And now look at him. Anything that happened to him, he'd brought upon himself.

He faced Doflamingo again, a query on his upturned lips.

Sparing a glance, Doflamingo continued with the paperwork. "Brat wouldn't open his trap when we wanted him to, and couldn't keep it shut when appropriate. Slept when he should've been awake, primed, primped and ready to go. Hands are tied to the bars with shackles and strings. Parasito keeps his lips conveniently wide until he learns to part or shut his mouth on command. On instinct."

He paused and listened. Vergo's breath was so even. Such a contrast to...

"His bracelets syncopate with the overall rhythm nicely, don't they? That's why we give him shiny things. It pays off. If only he could conduct himself with a little more decorum he wouldn't find himself in these situations. Vergo's fucking him until he learns to eat _all_ of his breakfast."

Dellinger's eyes lit like Catherine Wheels. "But if he can't close his mouth . . ."

Doflamingo shook out his sleeves and pulled down his shirt cuffs before resuming his work.

"An order is an order, Dellinger, and disobeyed orders will be punished accordingly."

The boy squirmed and shot Doflamingo an imploring look.

Doflamingo hesitated, pen in air, smile stretched widely. "You're too young, Dellinger." He placed the pen on the desk, and sat back in his chair. "But I know the other officers could do with a little stress-relief. It depends on how unpalatable Law makes himself, even though he's the one taste-testing. I don't know that he should be encouraged. He's a little arse-dragging bitch, but Vergo and I are fond of that arse in our own way."

He ran a hand through his own hair, admiring Vergo's single-mindedness.

"We don't like our trash too trampy. If we keep him exclusive maybe we can train him out of the habit. Like rubbing a puppy's nose in its own shit." But Law couldn't be housebroken, the Heavenly demon knew only too well. Just broken. His cackle almost drowned out everything else. Almost.

They both looked over as Vergo came with a grunt and a shudder, Law trying to swallow, to not choke, to breathe with, and without, crying. The sounds were incredibly gratifying to the Don Quixote three. The cuffs rattled against the bars intermittently. Doflamingo guessed it was a bodily reaction. He wondered if Rocinante's golden boy had wet himself.

Joker could do business like this the whole day. In fact, he intended to. It was so enjoyable, he might have to get that light fixed though, much as it pained him to make life a little easier for Law.

He watched Vergo being Vergo, and the man stood a little to the side so that his boss could see his protégé from his desk. The ex-marine couldn't help but jerk Law's hair upwards, the fool gaped at him with startled, brittle eyes. Semen was obviously pooling in his mouth, under that talented, warm, enticing tongue perhaps and, _there_ , trickling down the sides of his face. Hmm. What had he said about being obeyed?

He knew Vergo wanted to kick or beat him, but he didn't want Law too physically damaged today. The bars _would_ make beautiful patterns against his back, and Doflamingo grew very happy seeing his brand near the convulsing stomach of his reclaimed underling.

" _Onii-chan_!" Dellinger yelled out, and Law moved his head like a stunned mullet, a laughing clown. The younger boy doubled over. He'd looked funny before, but this was beyond hilarious. Wait until he told Buffalo. There was no way he could muster up a glare to even make Baby 5 cry. "You left his pants on?" he asked when he'd stopped giggling. Disappointed.

"Even a brat needs a little dignity, Dellinger," Doflamingo sneered. His words were not directed at the blond.

Vergo yanked his zip and strode to Doflamingo's desk, giving Dellinger a quick once over.

.

"It takes all my control not to beat him to fuck and back for disobeying orders."

"Your restraint is commendable."

"You're too kind, Doffy. He likes it rough. I remember him begging to be taken over the hood of a car in the desert."

"Little tart, but you don't have a car, Vergo, and haven't been near the desert."

"That's right, I haven't."

Doflamingo sighed. What could he do to curb the slatterny habits of his slave, even if sprung from Vergo's absentmindedness?

"Not to worry. We'll make him pay for it later."

Dellinger noted that Vergo's breakfast this morning must have contained toast, Law's least favourite food. Even though the executive's face had been nowhere near Law's, the irony was lip-smacking.

"Next, Doffy, what if I deprive him of my spunk down that cunt of a throat, since he can't seem to keep it there anyway, and paint his body over, after pulling out?"

They looked over at Law; shaking, barefoot Law with the colourful brand, and the mouth pierced with strings. White streaks on the black trousers. No doubt some blood too, but they dressed him in black so he didn't blemish his surroundings too much. Visibly. Only with his being. Not with the effluent of his body – and theirs. It matched his tattoos. He couldn't complain.

"Quiet," Doflamingo barked, and Law tried to stop the spasms in his arms, to still his legs.

Joker returned his attention to Vergo.

"Of course one must take advantage of what's on offer, and he hasn't shut his gob yet, despite _very_ specific orders."

Vergo nodded.

"Evidently willing, yes," Doflamingo murmured. "Didn't I tell you to shut it, Law?" he spat at the once-rival pirate captain, though he'd never ever really been good enough to be taken seriously as a rival or a captain.

"But there you are catching flies? Taking _all_ of Vergo. Yet, when I want a bit of relief, you're as prim as a maiden. It's _annoying_ beyond belief. As your captain and master, I'm commanding you to close your mouth _now_."

Doflamingo's tenor was something else. Dellinger couldn't wipe the grin from his face.

It amused the huge man to see Law's lips twitch against the parasite strings in an attempt to bring them together. His guts must be like the polar caps. Nothing the defeated could do about it now, as Law well knew. He'd personally disciplined him for his ongoing insubordination earlier. Doflamingo's groin retained a pleasant heat from the memory. A few gurgles from the back of Law's throat sounded out like some cretin's attempt at language. Maybe he was trying to emulate Bellamy.

"He's calling your name, Vergo."

The first Corazon gave the slave a quick look.

Vergo turned back to Doflamingo. "The new rule, or extra rule, being that if he can't wipe himself down after I'm done, we do it again."

"Dirty bird loves it."

"It's too good for him really, though I'm happy to oblige."

"But his hands are tied," Dellinger shouted, gleeful, looking at the slovenly, angry heap. He couldn't even turn a wrist to raise a finger.

Doflamingo ignored him. "Lessons must be learnt, Vergo. Start with the mouth. Finish in the throat, on the body, in his hair - should I pin his eyes open? - any way, just so long as _you understand your punishment. Law."_

He stared at him and turned back to his small entourage.

"Such a dumbfuck. Such a waste."

So beautiful.

"Very good."

"Once you're done, you can beat him into the bars. I know you're itching to."

"It was considerate to give him something to lean against."

"I'm not a monster." Doflamingo signed the documents Dellinger had presented earlier.

"Then wash him down, and put him to bed to rest. Don't fuck him. He can eat lunch with the Family if he performs well, his lips heal, if he can move. Tomorrow we'll see if he's ready. Or if the strings will be once again be necessary."

Vergo had already crossed the room, placed Law's almost dead fingers on his zipper, then helped him pull it down, the button still fastened. He'd have to be careful of the zipper-teeth. He dipped a hand into the folds of his trousers, and forced Law up onto his knees this time, cupping him under the jaw. He angled his face, then gripped his hair again, for maximum effect. "Suck, bitch."

"Disobedience will not be tolerated," Doflamingo smiled, as he manipulated the strings to open Law's lips wider.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

He was going to survive, _he was going to survive_ \- it didn't matter how fat and flat and invasive Vergo's hand felt cupped to his cheek and pulling his hair, he was going to survive. Every bit of metal that his head clanged against as Vergo pistoned into his mouth let him know he was still there, still alive, still able to gain fucking vengeance, or to live, just to live. He was still fucking alive.

Every twist of Doflamingo's fucking piano string wires into his wrists hyped his body into survival overdrive. Every clink of the shackles against metal. Shackles _and_ string. Who did Doflamingo think Law was? Kaido? Even if he rattled away in terror like a teacup in an earthquake, he would beat them. Fuck it.

They could bring in Dellinger, look at him over there practically creaming himself, and have him go down on him with his pointed Fishman teeth, while Vergo brutalised him, and still he'd survive.

Until he didn't.

They'd coerce his body into coming and hold it as justification for their actions, as judgement against him, and so fucking let them. He _would_ fucking rise above them just by surviving them and not being them. All their petty manipulations would eventually fail and fall flat.

Vergo pushed into him. Relentless. A string of glottal stops spitfired from Law's throat – and Law hated it, how he hated it – being reduced to something so inarticulate, so guttural.

But he'd never be their rough drawing, their rude pin up, their page three boy. Their whore to be used, pitied and despised. Even as he shuddered trying to draw breath, his body fighting not to black out, resigning himself to inevitability pissing himself, he would fucking survive.

It didn't stop his eyes from rolling back, the tears, the shame, nor the suppressed growls and the curses, but he was alive, and _would_ remain that way. Whatever it took.

* * *

Chapter 11, a much softer chapter, will be up shortly.


	11. Little Boy Blue - Law, Marco (Red Force)

**A/N:** **Chapters ten and eleven posted on the same day.** Ten is a tough chapter, so please read the warnings. If you skip ten, you can probably not lose too much continuity by going straight to this chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven – Little Boy Blue – The Myelin Incident – Part 5**

* * *

Oh god, myelin-what-the-fuck-ever, Law was right, this was bliss. Apparently _he_ was straight – as straight as Law could get – having argued that only one of them should be altered, and his reasoning was sound, but the blue, all around them: Marco could taste, feel, see, sense, hear it. Just as Law had hoped he would. Though wary at first, Marco would be all for the Doc increasing the amount of myelin in his brain to speed up his neuron receptors any day if this was the result.

Of course, Law was an excellent gatekeeper – immersing Marco in kick-start sensory vibes, rather than exposing him to the sideswiping, blindsiding, send-you-sprawling kind. Though, knowing Law, the quieter ones could be just as deadly.

Side by side on the deck of the Red Force, they watched foam part like smoke through the water as the ship sliced the ocean, the moon above lending its glow. Law had his dome over them, and Marco's power was lit at a low hum, interspersing it and them like the warm innards of Jonah's whale. Wait. Maybe that wasn't the best analogy. What _had_ Law done to his mind? Whale meat wasn't his favourite, even if Pop's ship had been called the Moby Dick.

What had that Mink done earlier? He'd never seen Law react so naturally, so instinctively. His whole attention had been geared to Bepo and Bepo alone. Despite being surrounded by crews, and Yassop's curiosity, and Shanks' possible ire; despite Law's ingrown chariness, he'd blanked them all out.

He'd been tense when Yassop had flicked through the papers, just a few minutes before speaking with the bear. And then he'd fucking melted when Bepo had touched him, all shadows fading.

Marco recalled sailing with Inuarashi and Nekomamushi. They were great leaders, so of course they couldn't get too friendly, but with a little bit of alcohol Nekomamushi put the _Gara_ in garrulous. And _garachu_ , that Mink greeting and habit was – could he taste it in this blue world Law had introduced him to? – it was the soft relief of gloves in the bottom of a bag on an icy evening; warm steam rising from New Year soba after visiting the shrine. It felt safe.

He turned to Law. They were already shoulder and hip close. The sea sailed by. Benn and Shanks were somewhere behind them. Drinking, gossiping no doubt. At the end of the day, Shanks seemed to be happy to have had an excuse for a party.

Marco pulled Law closer, the taller man moving easily into his space, and here went nothing. He rubbed his cheek against Law's own, mimicking the Minks, and rather than jumping back, startled and on guard, Law leant into it, and returned it, like he had with Bepo. Did he even know what he was doing? Maybe not. There was something so primal and protective in it. Maybe even a wish to be protected.

Both withdrew and Law rested the back of his fingers in the curve of Marco's palm. Marco curled his own fingers slightly to meet them. Law extended his room so that the fluorescent plankton floating just past the wash in its own brilliant blue was imbued with a sheen like Jozu's armour. Marco let out a breath.

"Tastes like your voice."

Law laughed.

"You have the best voice."

"It's blue?"

"Sometimes. Like the haze of tobacco smoke."

"Not very healthy."

"I never said you were good for me, Law."

"Well, I hope I am." The flash of Law's teeth in their bayou glow.

"Just, y'know, if you continue showing me your talents this way, I might have to keep you."

"No-one keeps me."

"You know what I mean."

Law nodded. Marco remained near.

"It's a healthier way of showing off your skills than earlier today."

"You mean when I slit that kid's throat?"

An anodized taste soured Marco's tongue, a hint of Law's warning.

"That was brute force, I think," the Phoenix said

"It was quick and effective. There was some skill involved." Law's weapon was within the Room's glow now, but rested easily against the railing in her scabbard.

"Let's not quibble over murder."

Law turned to him, all shaggy hair and dull gold. "Fair. I lost my temper. I shouldn't have done it."

Marco shrugged, and whispered. He could hear Benn's low murmur. "I mean when you lopped off Shanks' arm. You amputated his motherfucking arm."

The rapscallion's grin was sudden.

"Don't. Don't ever practice your skills on me that way."

"It wasn't on purpose."

"Even so."

"I put him back together again."

"Even so!"

Ah, that rumble. Land burnt to harvest sugar cane. The side of Law's face under Marco's own. It chafed and fizzed in his mouth and left behind something bordering on acrid. Artesian bores, squeaking windmills, fire; red, green, blue, orange.

.

"Can we go back to four things?"

"Touch? If you want."

 _One_ , Marco pressed his fingers more firmly around Law's own again and squeezed them, still with a rivulet of flame flickering over them.

 _Two_ , he tried _garchu_ again and was rewarded with Law's pleased exhalation. He studied those eyes, wondering about the third thing. This mind-blowing gift Law had given him was maybe not the strangest thing he'd experienced in the New World, but up there. He had to do it right.

Law's eyes reflected the blue around them, and the specks of gold (Marco could confirm) _were_ a thing. He couldn't read them. He ventured from that slate gaze down to that those full and proud lips, a content set to them. Marco's tongue-tip touched the inner lining of his own for a second, and – what the fuck?

He didn't beat himself up for not noticing before – the marks were very light – but given the events of the day, he wasn't sure how the night would pan out. Like thread pulled from leatherwork, tiny holes were punched into the skin around Law's lips. They'd closed up, an outcrop of faint protuberances.

Was there any piece of the man in front of him that had not been mutilated?

The taste – again why Law wanted to remain unaltered – flooded in. _This is why you can't have nice things, Law._ Marco shook his head. The blue - sub-Arctic, an ice-floe. A climate which could swallow Law forever. Both men glanced to the sea for a second, the ocean, always moving, currents promising change.

When Marco looked back, Law was again regarding him closely. The Phoenix sensed him maintaining his balance, going through some of the steps he'd learnt. Was that his doctor face? It was up to him now. Marco. What was the next step?

He kept their hands joined, and with the thumb of his other hand, the rough calloused bastard it was, followed the Heart captain's face, brushing over the marine scar and stopping at his lips. Law almost pulled his head away, but remained. His breath was soft and, thank god, steady, across the joints of Marco's fingers.

Marco maintained a pressure with the hand that held Law's that let him know that, rather than trying to find a path between his lips, he was asking a question. Maintained a pressure - not of demand - as his thumb skimmed the bumps, but reassurance. He hoped.

Law kept his breath even. He glanced out at the plankton. Where was the agate? The Room was all around them, Kikoku nearby.

That water was getting pretty cold.

Number three. Marco dropped his thumb. Law wasn't sure. That was one memory he couldn't let cloud the Room and Marco's current senses. Who was he kidding? One of many. But with the dropped hand, the Phoenix had acknowledged. He hadn't asked for more.

Law took a breath. Yes, it was his doctor's face. This proximity _was_ something he could get used to. He took his hand from Marco's, and crossed his wrists on the ship's railing, leaning into them, stretching his legs back, Kikoku to one side, the blond to the other.

He looked up at Marco and the light of the dome intensified with the power of both men. Marco tipped his head, asking Law to stand, and, after stretching out, he did. They faced one another, and Marco, sent his flames over and into every single cell that made up the Heart captain. Only for tonight. His powers only stretched so far.

 _Four_. Was it cheating if he created the sensation?

Law's head inclined back as the flame hit all zones of tactility, Adam's apple bobbing. Fuck, he was the one meant to be treating that Whitebeard prick tonight. Grandstander. But could he really complain? There was no menace in the diffusion. This was something unadulterated.

.

Marco wound his fruit down, though it still lit the two of them intermittently. As brief as it was, he'd got a kick out of that too. The taste? Weightless.

"Mad motherfucker. Let's get me back to normal before your powers run out." Marco put a hand to Law's waist and drew him in.

"Nightcap to warm you?" Law asked to the changed air between them, fingers almost shy, reaching for the sash that had filled his senses earlier in the day. Aquamarine. He spoke into Marco's hair, against the tip of his ear.

"Shanks hasn't drunk it all?"

"Ssshhh," Law looked around, wondering where the emperor was lurking. "My powers come in handy for hiding valuables." He pulled Marco's hands from him, but didn't walk away, kept one hand looped in the Phoenix's. "What are you feeling now?"

"An evening sky streaked through with a work-weary day." Marco said. This synaesthesia was something else.

"Takes some effort to make a sunset," Law murmured. "Taste?"

"The ghost of tomorrow." Though Marco hoped any other rewards were coming sooner than that.

"Superstitious pirates and their poetry," Law said, but his lips curled with interest. Eyes crinkled. "C'mon. Let's get your neurons sorted out, then I'll play with your other receptors."

Marco walked across the deck with him.

"That's your bed talk?"

"That's as good as it gets. If you behave, you get to see my flannel nightie."

Marco laughed and Law shot him a look, then Marco wasn't sure if he was joking or not.

"Bepo made it. It's one of my favourites."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"Why aren't you romantic like that?" Benn growled, ashing his cigarette into the water.

"Yeah. The plankton show, or the cheesy pick-up lines?"

Benn just smiled.

"Luminescence." Shanks gestured out to the ocean. Trafalgar might have hoodwinked Marco with that one, but the plankton was as beautiful with or without Devil Fruit enhancement.

"Aww," Benn inhaled, exhaled. "Go on."

"I think you have to be neurotic to understand neuron receptors, and I'm not that."

"That you are not."

"How about a nightie?"

"You think Law really has one?"

Benn and Shanks looked at one another, and then both shook their heads. The doc had some old lady collecting habits, but they didn't think it extended to nightwear. Whoever really knew with him though?

Shanks had been drinking all day and wasn't finished yet. Benn had a tankard of ale too.

"You'll wear a nightie for me?" Benn asked.

"Not a flannel one. How about I give you a hundred roses on our fiftieth anniversary?"

"I'll hold you to it."

"Red of course."

"Of course."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Okay, so I'm still playing with time, and this is part 5 of the myelin incident because there are parts 1-4 to the whole myelin/synaesthesia experience, but I'll be including them later in the story, and explaining it more then too. I am hoping that it's not _too_ oblique at this stage. It's just a device for their wondrous powers, really :-)

Law doesn't really have a flannel nightie, btw, as far as _I_ know.


	12. Black Sheep - Mountain Time, Cora's past

**Chapter twelve: Baa-Baa Black Sheep**

* * *

 **seventeen years**

Roci didn't entirely _disbelieve_ the news about the demon-child, Nico Robin. He'd seen what children were capable of. He'd also had justice slammed into the niches of his six-year spine by clubs held in adult hands. What's done to me, I'll do to mine. _And thine_. Those deemed Heavenly could be demonic, and the devils among us had all fallen from the higher realms. So he didn't know what to think about this demon isle.

His cohort and superiors hadn't let him near the cannonballs. Not because of age. His file showed a serious seventeen-year-old, eyes hard and sad, no hint of a smile. Broad-shouldered, muscles of a pack mule, shaggy mop of hair. Perfect marine fodder. Except for the _clumsy as fuck_ bit (that was written on a pink post-it, stuck on the first page). No cannons for Don Quixote. Keep Don Quixote _away_ from the cannons.

He'd have his fellow recruits in stitches though. Whether by design or not was never known.

Sengoku's charge had often visited Nico Olvia in the cells, Bleat tripping behind. He'd also been friends with the renegade-now-ex-Vice Admiral, Jaguar D. Saul, and there were rumours the giant marine was on the island of Ohara. If Roci played his part in Nico's eradication, in bringing in Saul, then maybe he'd be ready to face Doflamingo when the time came.

Only, Nico hadn't killed Rocinante's father.

Small details.

It was a test of mettle. Sengoku had wiped his hand down his plaited beard and assigned Rocinante to the campaign.

 **oOOo**

What did age have to do with a person's capability? You'd think it would, but Doflamingo's mind was wire-monkey stunted – as detached as a pulled shoulder, and his brother was adept at dislocating those.

At age ten, he killed their father, his hand steady. A few months later, it was said a town was razed in his name because he'd grazed his knee tripping over uneven footpaths. His sycophantic crew schooled the surviving citizens in the fine art of grovelling in Doflamingo's wake, as was fitting. No matter his smile, there was no trace of benevolence.

Loose lips sink ships, and they tattled away on the vessels bombarding Ohara. Nico Robin – fugitive Olvia's daughter – was a professor of archeology and she knew that most terrible of secrets, how to read the poneglyphs. This supposedly peaceful island harboured at least a hundred scholars. A nearby unit opened fire on the eight-year-old girl, the West Blue genius, as she skirted the island. Skittering across dirt, she fled their attack, that lumbering giant assisting her. The ancient weapons must _not_ be revealed.

The ocean curled back and hit like a tsunami. The cries of marines to the right of Roci's station echoed across the bay as Saul upended their ship. The ship nearest the criminals. Saul's footsteps alone kicked up a wake that could be surfed.

Roci had never had an off switch for fear. He knew how to operate through it, but he couldn't ignore it, wasn't able to slow his heart. Who knew he was a fruit eater? If Saul capsized them could he stop his fall into the water?

Nico Robin couldn't swim. He'd seen her hands, one after the other, a tug-of-war rope made solely of her fruit's fingers and palms duplicated many times over, stretched out to the ship taking citizens to safety. The townsfolk panicked. _Monster! Demon!_ She ran away before they resolutely refused her boarding. _Child of a lowlife._ Olvia had been nice.

Roci didn't think they lost that many that day. Maybe a few to the storm that stranded Saul, and a few to Saul's anger, but he was fairly certain Nico Robin hadn't used her fruit to submerge anything. They were lucky Saul hadn't taken out their own craft.

Vice Admiral Akainu was the one who fired upon the evacuation ship, a long way from Saul's reach. Roci was thankful he hadn't been on that ship either.

The citizens and scholars of Ohara could take up arms, but only the scholars did, and they were easily disarmed. Too peaceful to a person. Bar Nico Olvia

 **oOOo**

Saul's demise was the result of a targeted assassination, not even collateral damage. A very specific, personal, exchange. From where he stood on his division's deck, Roci witnessed Vice Admiral Kuzan freeze Jaguar D. Saul. If one believed in Justice, one needed to believe in it thoroughly. He wondered how Robin got away.

The screams and pleas of the evacuees were drowned by the sea, the fire too intense for anyone to help them. The marines had colleagues to pull them from the water. They said a 5000-year-old tree was burning.

Roci's ship was close enough to the shore to see Kuzan's face curl in disgust when Sakazuki wiped out the evacuees. Across the bay, even the director of CP9, Spandine, seemed taken aback. _If we're going to do it, let's do it right_. In many things, Akainu and Sengoku seemed to be on the same page.

Rocinante kind of understood. If you were going to go after historians, scholars, archaeologists, best to make sure you eliminated them all. It's not like they wore camo, or were ridiculously buff and lean like some of the guerrillas they came across, some of the pirates. They were insipid and so, insidious enough to hide their menace in plain sight, behind a shirt covered in hearts. He kind of understood the reasoning. In for a penny, in for a pound. May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. May as well hang the lambs.

But then, Vice Admiral Saul had bawled out Sengoku, Roci's guardian, before he'd absconded. Roci had walked into the room, intending to pick up Bleat before returning to the home on base he shared with the Buddha. They hadn't heard him enter, and then he'd used his fruit.

What _was_ so terrible about historians? What _did_ the world have to fear from archaeologists? Why _were_ the marines wiping the face of the world clean of defenceless populations, scrubbing their names and homes from the map? Was it for the World Government? For the very people who'd rejected Homing?

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

 **twenty-two years**

Loyalty was rewarded. Roci understood that. Bucking the mainstream brought the opposite. If he didn't have his own fish to fry and wasn't more important to the World Government for matters in the New World, namely Dressrosa, he'd be on the team with other devil fruit users, tracking down Nico Robin and other hazards. Hazards to the world, jeopardising his ancestral home and the Holy Land, Mariejois.

Saul was a threat then, by that reasoning, but children hadn't seemed to be scared of him. At least not Nico Robin. More proof that she was a demon? But Roci had only felt safe in his company too.

His fruit was perfect for a double agent. He led a triple, if not quadruple, life, after all. Sengoku didn't like the whispers about the Don Quixote Family planning a move to the New World, sights set on Dressrosa. The admiral wasn't sure why that kingdom was on their radar. What was their motivation?

Sengoku might not have known, but Roci did. Human, world noble, descendant of royalty, he knew his brother wanted to pestle-and-mortar anyone who tried to stop his rise, anyone who'd kicked him to the ground. Everyone and anyone, really. He'd tumbled, but he pulled bodies with him into the fall, gripping their lapels tight and scrunching the necks of their t-shirts, and damn if he wouldn't use their decapitated heads as stepping stones to clamber right on back up to the top.

Roci blew out a stream of smoke. Doffy's core was as molten as Sakazuki's own.

 **oOOo**

Mute subordinates were something Doflamingo approved of. A twist of his strings could stop their tongues from wagging anyway, or he could pull them straight out, permanently useless. To not go to the bother was refreshing.

He was strong. Roci was strong. This new, tall, strangely made up brother. But just look at Diamante. It wasn't as if different was abnormal in the Family. And where did being nice, sweet and humble get you? A place in the hearts of some, but not in the hearts of men. Nor gods. Vile creatures both. And Doflamingo would not be beholden to either.

Vergo doubted. The Blood Law silenced his questions. It was only coincidence that he embarked on his secret mission soon after – the double agents ultimately, unknowingly (until the last moment) betraying the other.

 **oOOo**

The kids were scared of him but, hardened into foolishness, tricked him with the same old pranks, time after time. They always got the better of him, but they never got the better hand. He threw their wriggling bodies from the Don Quixote headquarters, again and again, propelling them far from the entanglement of Doflamingo's mind and world. Buffalo could fly, so Cora had to be more creative. They kept crawling back.

It was in them. In all of them. The sting of being left, by family, government, pirates. There was no shortage of hate in these piglets, suckling away at its teats.

Buffalo and Baby 5, the closest in age and in a need to please, were loyal and attached. But if the Young Master told them to do something, even against the other, it would be done.

Doflamingo took as much as Baby 5 had to give of her wide-open soul. Cora couldn't ever see her leaving. For as long as Doflamingo needed someone to dust the tables, to pick pockets, to shoot pedestrians, she felt safe. She had a role to play.

Bufflao, a street thug, was maybe lucky to have fallen in with the Family. Without it, the back alley gutter-rats would waste no time exploiting his naivety and brute strength. He laughed easily if he was told to. The navy could use someone like him.

Doflamingo provided a little more, looked out that little bit extra, in between the threats of torture and extermination. Cora understood that. He could see the attraction in the illusion of security.

He tried to shake the kids from his long pirate legs, and then Law came along. Doffy quickly recognised himself in that sharp bit of scrap metal that somehow got itself loose from the pile, even when Cora returned him to it. Trained and treated the right way, Doflamingo would have a right hand man in Law on par with Vergo.

He wondered what Doffy intended to do with him, his own brother, after ten years, if the side-swiping urchin was going to replace him. But that madman would be stopped by then anyway.

Law was smart though. Dumb in loyalty, but smart enough to take everything that Doflamingo served up to him and put him through, and smart enough to use it to shape himself into an all-rounder; in commerce, fighting, torture, in healing the Family. He was going to die in three years anyway. What did it matter?

Doffy's crew had many talented workers, but a doctor was not one of them. His brother deigned himself superior at a young age, so it was no surprise that he sucked up Law's ability to learn, singled out his prior knowledge, and encouraged him to proceed. He'd need to utilise his skills some day at any rate. Optimism wore an absurd shade of flamingo.

Cora knew of Robin's amazing wisdom. He knew what kids were capable of. Six years after Ohara, he didn't doubt Law's versatility.

He'd been with marines able to obliterate the life of the scholars, but unable to capture an eight-year-old devil fruit user. A monster child could grow into Doffy, and Doffy had to be stopped. Cora lit another cigarette and then rapidly extinguished the flames that had somehow jumped to the shoulder of his coat. Those brats giggled.

He had to stop Doffy's march to Dressrosa, and prevent the creation of a psychopath cruel enough to rival his family's own.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Thanks for reading.**

This is probably mountain time - a reflection from Sengoku's stories about Cora, and Law's questions. How are the time shifts going for you, or are you just going to see how it all pans out? I've tried to indicate the general time the chapter is set in through the titles, and things are hopefully (starting to) jigsaw together..


	13. Happy Wanderer - Mountain Time (present)

**A/N:** **Slight warnings** for remembered sexual assault, though not graphic, apart from one sentence, perhaps. A fairly gentle chapter, I think, but my perception isn't everyone's. Skip the second paragraph from _Law's skin crawled_ if you feel you need to.

* * *

 **Chapter thirteen –** **The Happy Wanderer**

* * *

"Looking good, Trafalgar."

Law's skin crawled whenever one of the old-school marines used those words, particularly the former admirals. And Kizaru _still_ pestered him for a game of chess, as if he hadn't jammed his dick so far up Law's arse his teeth had rattled. As a doctor, he knew that was an impossibility, and his mouth had been . . . His fingers curled around Kikoku. The flaying of his back was an easier concept.

Kizaru's strategic skills held so much value in the new government they excused any of the crimes he'd committed. Law knew he wasn't the only one who'd received his very unwanted attention, but Law's own crimes no doubt annulled any objections he had to lack of reparation. Kizaru and Akainu chose those whose chance of recognition of _any_ kind was only possible through underhanded, sneaky, or in-your-face, aggression. Those with no voice. Justice – a matter of perspective, and power. The new government kept the admiral on a tight leash. That was something.

Law had never had an issue with Aokiji. Except that time he'd sent ice spears after his escaping sub. Sure as hell made operating on Luffy and Jinbe tiresome. He related to him more than the other high ranking marines, Tsuru aside. Smoker aside. Smoker had always been human. _He_ could say those words, though it had taken years for them to be an expression of affection rather than mockery. And Aokiji _had_ saved Smoker from Doflamingo.

Sengoku, Law and Bleat drew closer, crunching through pebbles like Sengoku chomping into rice crackers. Which sound was which?

The Pheasant's hair was still black, bastard, and how ancient was he now? Law pushed the brim of his cap up in greeting. "Aokiji." His rattletrap bicycle, mama-chari, rested against Sengoku's hut. This pair. At least Aokiji had better dress sense. "Where's your penguin?"

"Camel? They're not really land animals, Law." The Heart captain, out of all the pirates, should know that. Law wondered why a non-land animal was named after a land animal, but then, both creatures stayed warm or cool using similar biological features. Come to think of it, Camel was shaped a bit like those old blunt birdlike lighters Benn had in his collection. "I use the bike sometimes. Cycled past your house on the way here."

Which meant he dropped in. That mooching pace only Aokiji could maintain with his fruit or whatever other superhuman strength he had. Dawdling all over the world on two wheels (or a penguin's back), the bicycle probably heavier than himself, and still able to cover swathes of terrain in the blink of an eye.

Handy to be able to take a short cut over the ocean. Handy for a devil-fruit user to be able to freeze the seas. Law wondered how he was immune to the water.

The admiral's legs extended onto the track. He was a tall fucker. A few centimetres on Sengoku, but a tad shorter than Doflamingo. Law measured these things by eye. He sat on the bench flat against the wall, outside Sengoku's hut, observing the two men now in front of him.

.

"Can't you keep your pets in tow, Sengoku-san?" Law's eyes fired, but Aokiji gestured toward the goat. Bleat's bleat had woken him, as had the murmur of voices alternating in levels of annoyance. He'd pushed his sleeping mask up his forehead, keeping his hair in check.

"Did we disturb your beauty sleep, y'lazy turncoat?" Sengoku asked.

Aokiji stretched out, yawning, loosening his lanky form. It got cold having an ice fruit.

"A man can't rest even for a second."

Law looked on as the goat nuzzled the bag the new visitor had on his lap.

"Coulda given me some warning, Kuzan."

"Yeah, yeah." Aokiji waved the ex-fleet admiral's words away, stifling another yawn. He turned to Law, giving his clothes a cursory glance. Then to the ex-fleet admiral. Prancing goats on his board shorts? What _was_ Sengoku wearing? Law was easier on the eyes.

"You get the same lecture, pirate?"

.

The company Law kept nowadays. After escaping Doffy the first time, he bypassed the lowering of drawbridges in favour of storming ramparts. Not by force alone. He might not blend into all levels of society, but he could hold his own. If looked down upon, it wasn't his problem, even when they used his so-called station in life to excuse their actions. _Lowlife prick, arrogant prick, piddling, insignificant prick_. He'd had _all_ the insults of each social strata thrown at him. Just words.

"Seems I wasn't the only one with a bounty there for a while."

Aokiji shrugged. Going undercover to bring down Blackbeard, and to help stop Akainu's mindlessness had worked. He adjusted the vest he wore over a short sleeved t-shirt, a cloth bomber jacket over that.

"The Phoenix passes his regards."

Both marines noticed Law soften a little, his grip on Kikoku loosen a little.

"He's fine?"

"You're fighting?"

Aokiji examined Law's sharp face for too much interest, too much investment. Habit. Everyone knew the Phoenix and surgeon were together, but relationships could crucify you.

Law shook his head. The ex-admiral took in the chipped paint on those quarter nails as he pushed up his hat.

"I think they had a tiff, Kuzan." Sengoku munched okaki, and Aokiji rummaged in his bag for the brand that the Buddha especially liked.

"Such a shame to see young love go sour," he mumbled to the worn leather.

"Tchh." Law hitched his nodachi, and entered the hut to stir the embers, to get the fire going for the kettle, before the Buddha ragged on him again for being an ingrate.

 **oOOo**

It made sense to sit outside while the weather was good. Law felt a little intimidated by the two massively tall men who sat either side of him as if waiting to cart him off to Impel Down. Then again, he'd spent his life surrounded by ridiculously tall beings, and Bepo and Jean Bart had some metres on the Pheasant and the Buddha. Even so, he'd never had reason to fear his crew.

Up to this point, Law had been taller than all of his serious partners. Marco was perfect. It wasn't by design, but he was sure there was some survival instinct at work.

"Relax." Aokiji leant across to the upturned empty olive oil tins Sengoku had joined together to fashion a small table. A threadbare checkered tea-towel covered them.

He picked up the pot Law had placed there, and poured the ocha into the cups he'd also brought from the hut. Pouring was Law's duty, of course, being younger and a pirate, but neither he nor the Heart captain gave much of a fuck about etiquette, though each had their own style of it.

Aokiji stared at Law before returning to his task. "Why so tense? You don't have a bounty any more. I'm not in active service – well I am, but you know, working with Strawhat and under Fujitora – your allies. You're as comfortable as can be when you're with Smoker and his people. We've - whatchamacallit? - conversed before. So why now?"

Law shot a quick glance Aokiji's way, then down to the yellow dirt surrounding the hut. Kikoku was cradled in the crook of his elbow, and he pressed a hand over the tattoo on his forearm.

He just needed a moment.

With an almost imperceptible lift of his head, Sengoku indicated a stump some way opposite the tins. Law caught the movement, gazed over the yard, if it could be called that, and shambled the stump in. He stood without apology, and sat opposite the two. A few scraggly white-barked trees dotted the land around the camp. The cold pooled about their ankles. Sengoku didn't seem to feel it on his bare legs.

"Smoker's shorter than him y'know?"

"You don't say?" said Aokiji, not quite being able to imagine it. He didn't pursue it. Smoker might be a friend, but he was still an idiot. Being freakishly tall had always worked for the admirals. It was difficult to remain strong when you had to crane your neck to see your opponent's face, and the admirals knew it, but Law was known for his cool. In regular human terms, he wasn't a shrimp. Intimidation didn't work on everyone. Tsuru could bring any of them to their knees of course.

Aokiji viewed the straight-backed, straight-laced - despite the rumours - pirate opposite now. Not hemmed in, he was more relaxed, though still in their sights, but they were also in his. The Pheasant knew he'd find it more comfortable too. Talking to Kuma Bartholomew or Gecko Moriah had been almost impossible. Just as well Garp wasn't here though. There's no way he'd pass up a chance to badger a buccaneer into bashfulness.

The ex-admiral scratched at his face, then finished pouring the tea. "Law, Roci towered over everyone. Well, not us, but you know, upstarts like Eustass Kid, Hawkins, that's if Don Quixote had lived to see them."

Law stiffened. What was that about? Aokiji wondered. Still sensitive about Roci?

Law placed his sword against the tree stump, and its length rested against his thigh. He absentmindedly moved the silver band he wore along his forearm, the metal hitting the mounded bone of his wrist. He kept Aokiji's gaze. "I was small for my age – the amber lead – when I knew Cora-San. Everyone was taller than me." Including Baby five, or close in height. There wasn't much of a difference between them even now.

Certain men made him nervous at certain times. The demons hadn't started using him until they could use his height as some kind of leverage, balance – yet another way to salve their consciences, if they possessed those – even though he'd still been growing. And _then_ he became aware of differentials.

After the second enslavement, he fought his hyper-awareness, and mostly won. Height was mainly a problem if the giants wore a uniform, or had done so; if they wore feathered coats, or food on their face.

He felt the basalt and agate in his pocket, rotated them like two favoured taws from the games of hopscotch that Lamie used to play. His bag hung on a hook in the shack, and he shambled out a cube, replacing it with a pebble.

It landed neatly in Law's palm. Aokiji, about to hand out the cups, paused at the sight of the still beating heart. Law brought his fingers about it, face blank, and squeezed hard. Aokiji winced.

Many miles away, in a meeting held with the new heads of warfare, an old, former admiral clutched at his chest. Although he yelped in pain, and it took him some time to gain his breath, wheezing over the desk, his subordinates racing to get him to a chair – a slow smile spread across his lips. That Trafalgar boy still thought of him. Nice to know.

Akainu was eliminated mainly for what he'd done to Ace and Whitebeard, on behalf and behest of the new Pirate King. In the case of Kizaru, Luffy needed to listen to his advisors, and he did on this occasion. His concession to Law was that Kizaru's heart remained in his possession.

Aokiji, contemplating if he should have his haki activated, turned to Sengoku. The man idly groomed his beard. _Borsalino_ , he mouthed.

Law really didn't want to be at the forefront of Kizaru's consciousness any more than necessary, so he shambled the heart back and rotated the pebble in his hand now, along with the two other stones. Turned them with a very quiet clink before slipping them into his pocket.

Aokiji passed out the cups.

Law was at ease.

"What was that little show about?"

Law looked up from under his cap, took a sip of the tea, slurping up its roasted flavour. Hojicha. Sengoku had a good selection.

"Got a bit shaky."

Sengoku lightly tapped Bleat's flank, and she trotted over to the younger man. Law patted her out of habit as she tried to chew his jacket sleeve, her hair not the softest. Aokiji noticed the Buddha's actions. He didn't know if Law had.

"You planning on doing that to me?"

When had he gained a reputation for foolhardiness? Probably from associating with Luffy for too long. "I should have no reason to."

 _Right?_

"Right. And you wouldn't be able to."

"Right." Law knew his strengths.

.

Aokiji rested the rounded tea cup in the palm of his hand. Nice design. From Garp? He had a good eye for this kind of stuff. He sipped and sank back against the hut wall again.

"Nice job, Trafalgar."

Law grunted. Brewing a good pot of tea was one of those strengths.

The three men stared silently out at the peaks, Law looking to the side, some snow on the distant ones. They kept the mountain goats and Bleat in check, making sure they didn't make off with their belongings. Aokiji ratted around in a waterproof pouch he kept under his vest.

"He said to give you these."

Law looked over, secured Kikoku, and stood to take the small ziplock bag Aokiji proffered. He tilted his head. Who?

"Marco."

"Thanks."

He sat back down, and pulled back the fastener. Coriander. Not too wilted. From Law's herb garden. Medicinal garden.

"Said you'd know what to do with it."

Law broke off a leaf.

"What is it?" Sengoku growled over a mouthful of crumbs.

Law sighed. "Who feeds you, old man? How do you keep your food interesting?"

Sengoku viewed the green stuff disinterestedly. How'd the pirate expect him to see what kind of green stuff it was from this distance? Surly brat. Law's stew was good last night. Tastier than anything he usually made for himself, but then, he was used to the flavours of his own cooking. Years of having the mess cooks come up with great meal after meal meant he'd never really bothered to learn the finer touches, and when he made dinner for himself it was just for the purpose of feeding the machine.

"Oh," Aokiji rustled around for another bag full of green. Passed it to Law. "And this. Basil?"

Law placed the other baggie in his jacket pocket and, taking in the contents of the new one, shook his head in reply.

"Marjoram, sage? Something I should arrest you for?"

They didn't miss the light smile in Law's voice even if no hint of it crossed his face, the touch in his eyes as he spoke to the two men. It wasn't directed at Aokiji's words.

"No, we won't be eating these. The first one, yes, coriander. Maybe they call it cilantro, or pakuchi your way, Sengoku." He glanced at the old man before examining the new foliage.

Taking five leaves from the bag, he mushed them between his hands. Law's tattoos flipped sides like a washing machine's agitator. After he smushed them he used his thumb to break the leaves open and release the resin within. It didn't leave much residue.

Lifting his cupped palms to his face he inhaled, and allowed himself a smile – even if mostly hidden by his fingers – allowed himself eye contact with Aokiji.

"Tomato leaves. Best aroma."

"That's how to woo, you, Trafalgar? With a bunch of weeds?"

Law refused to be embarrassed, not after all this time. He guessed it was. He dipped into the scent and breathed it in further, not giving a damn.

The Ds - smiling behind the very hands of death, Aokiji thought, taking in the pirate's ink.

He passed a look with Sengoku. Every now and then flashes of Rocinante shone through.

* * *

As always, **thanks for reading**. All forms of feedback are welcome. **Many special thanks** to Lily Amazon, for her reviews, and as I wasn't going to bring this to FFN, belated thanks to Sarge for their wonderful reviews, always. It got dark, sorry. Thanks for my two faves and follows, heh! I would love to hear from _you_ Indonesia, India and readers from other countries. But really, thanks again for reading.

For Akainu and Kizaru's backstories, chapters four, five and six of _Repossession_ will clue you in. Read the warnings. For Akainu's comeuppance, check the last chapter of Repossession and it's expanded upon in the last chapter of _Birds of a Feather,_ for those who are interested.

Smoker and Law's past relationship can be found in the first few chapters of Repossession, Chapters 21, 25 and 26 and in Birds of a Feather. Read all warnings, please. Smoker's height is different on two sources I checked. One of them was Oro Jackson, so I'll go with that. It has Law as taller.

Maybe of interest to some readers, I researched why Aokiji's penguin might possibly be called Camel. It appears that there was a Japanese brand named Penguin that manufactured zippo lighters for Camel and other companies in the sixties. The shape could almost look like camel? At a stretch? Camels and penguins either cool or warm their feet by similar circulatory systems also. I don't think that Oda names anything without having a reason!


	14. T Dooley- Aokiji, Marco (Mountain time)

**Chapter fourteen - Hang Down your Head, Tom Dooley**

* * *

Aokiji had always got on with the Phoenix. Law? He liked him well enough. Tsuru, Kureha and that cigar-chomping moron all vouched for him until they were blue in the face. Even Tashigi mixed in a few good words along with the bad, especially after he'd seen her through her first pregnancy. But Law's reserve was difficult to fathom.

Marco was more straightforward. His laidback, _nombiri_ , _takeiteasy_ , style matched Aokiji's own. The Phoenix had no love for Sengoku, of course – the man who'd ordered Ace's execution on the basis of his biological father's bloodline. What had been beyond the pale for the Phoenix, was that the then fleet-admiral had planned to broadcast Ace's last moments in an effort to boost the marines' standing in the public eye. So Aokiji had heard. He didn't have a pathway into the Whitebeard commander's head. At the time, it was a view shared by most of the raggle-taggle miscreants who'd descended upon Marineford.

Aokiji would've agreed with Marco and the privateers, except he knew Sengoku better, and knew they – the marines – all came to the World Government thinking that Absolute Justice was Absolutely Just. Before Sakazuki. Maybe Saul had seen the government for what it was all those years before. He'd definitely upended the wrong ship at Ohara. But the Pheasant was the first to acknowledge the long standing trend of war criminals amassing on the side of the defeated.

Anyway, Marineford hurtled them to hell in a flaming hand basket as the planned execution became a free-for-all _and_ free fall of marine and pirate loss – some supposedly defending, others attacking, rescuing, subverting. Plenty of backstabbing going on. The transmission was cut, and filtered in and out during the course of the battle, depending upon which renegade hacked into the system.

Forget about Bluetooth, it was a red nose day. Images of Buggy flooded the sights of a thousand viewers. Though Aokiji heard that the public grumbled, it was no doubt preferable to witnessing the massacre Sengoku wanted hidden, as allied pirate crews and marines were mowed down in equal measure, not always by each other.

Sengoku had known they would be. The ready sacrifice of marine ships and the recruits who manned them, felled by friendly fire, was _not_ regarded well by combatants from either side. The price of war. Taking on Whitebeard – for what purpose?

Garp, though of course not related by blood, sat on the same platform as his condemned grandson. He did nothing. As was just. As was right. As was his duty. Even now a part of Aokiji admired him deeply for his stance.

Was Saul wrong to protect a child that wasn't his own? Sengoku? Rocinante? But that ass – Sakazuki – always taking everything to the extreme. The burns from ice, so easily unnoticed, could run far deeper, but it was as well that Aokiji could cool most of the injuries inflicted upon him during the separate battle on Punk Hazard. Not all.

Kuzan had been younger at Marineford. Not a young man, but younger. He wondered sometimes what Sengoku would have done if Rocinante was slated for elimination when he turned twenty – the age of majority – for having Don Quixote blood? But it was royal blood. Royal blood gone bad, instead of bad blood gone where? Portgas was liked. What was the element of corruption? When did haemoglobin become haemo _goblins?_ Fi-Fie- _Fe_ -fum?

Rocinante's death soured the old man in many ways. He'd always been tetchy, and always held that those with pirate lineage must perish, or at least be arrested, but he'd had some balance. Some. It wasn't immediately apparent at Marineford.

Maybe Rocinante was lucky that his brother was first generation. Who ever knew who was actually pulling the strings? Where the orders came from? Maybe Rocinante was protected by his royal blood, but none of the admirals – current at the time, retired or resigned – knew anything about it until Dressrosa. The World Government's definition of pirate had always been pragmatic and expedient.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Rocinante was quieter and sillier on his return from Ohara. He smoked more, and those around him grew apt in the art of putting out fires. Sengoku frowned, thinking of the smell staining the corners of the small home they shared. There were fewer smokers than there once had been in the forces, but the marines probably had a higher percentage than other groups. Pirates aside.

He spent more time than ever with Bleat, but had no-one to take her to visit – Nico Olvia gone, Ex-Vice Admiral Jaguar D. Saul gone. Ah, those Ds. Sengoku rubbed at his temples. Garp and his son.

They'd had no luck finding any offspring of Gold Roger either, but that island they'd scoured had a Portgas D Rouge. Red by name, red by nature. Dangerous and bleeding souls.

The Gorosei had taken interest in Roci. He wasn't sure why, but Sengoku's role was to do and die. They wanted Doflamingo stopped. Sengoku wanted Doflamingo stopped. Roci had warned that Doflamingo should be stopped.

The boy from North Blue read the reports as they filtered through. Using his fruit, against Sengoku's wishes, to find out tidbits of information meant for classified ears only.

He trained, and was shown the best way to use his powers. For a while he joined CP-9 on the island where they were steeped in the skills of subterfuge. Roci had not got on with Spandine, nor his son. But by age twenty-two he was ready to return to his brother.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

What had cooled Marco's scorn – and the scorn of many, Aokiji learnt while undercover – was Sengoku letting Shanks take Newgate's and Portgas' bodies. Or it had gone some way toward it. Also the old man stopping the actual war and taking responsibility for the losses. Not continuing it. Shanks had had to intervene first though. That young recruit, Coby, standing up to Akainu like that. That took balls.

Something shifted in the Buddha's thinking and Aokiji figured Marco, practical in times of trouble, was wise enough to see it. Forgiveness was another matter. He'd seen very few men forgive in his time. Not hold a grudge, perhaps, but forgiveness, no.

Those who knew about it also thought there was something of worth in Sengoku's support of Aokiji over Aikanu, both vying for the fleet-admiral position when the old man retired in disgust after Marineford. Aokiji discovered this while scouting reliable sources, snitches and plants, after having lost to his fellow logia.

The magma that ran in Sakazuki's veins – physically and holistically – was the main reason Aokiji went up against him for the position. Otherwise he wouldn't have bothered. If he'd succeeded, what a pain it would have been to have that much authority. Imagine all the naps missed out on. But, what was the alternative? Well, they found out quickly enough.

At least he knew Punk Hazard well enough to save Smoker's arse from the flamingo freak after he and Sakazuki had altered the landscape into a land of fire and ice. It hadn't felt good to lose that fight at the time, nor part of his leg. He didn't regret trying, though, and it had allowed him to move his operations sideways.

 **oOOo**

Aokiji saw Sengoku's resolve turn into something a little more flexible. After Dressrosa. Sengoku retired, and the ex-admiral playing devil's advocate, meant they could cross paths and forget about duty for a few brief moments. Some new lines worried the old man's face, along with the crow's feet that deepened with his new life of leisure.

The death of Rocinante had left his world with very little meaning, but was one of his driving purposes to halt the influence of pirates around the world, so Aokiji thought, though making Doflamingo a shichibukai hadn't gone anyway towards achieving that goal.

Then Law had told the ex-fleet admiral that Roci had given him life again, a reason to live. Maybe Law had been worth it. Worth Rocinante dying for. Maybe there _was_ another pirate whose life was worth it, was worth wishing the best for, if only to pay homage to his charge.

It wasn't until Smoker submitted his reports, official and unofficial, on the traitor Vergo, and how Law had some previous connection to him linked to Joker; it wasn't until Sengoku really went through them, Dressrosa long behind them, Law, Vergo and Doflamingo seemingly vanished from the face of the earth, that he realised he'd sent the marine into Rocinante's sphere near the time of his death. Not that Roci was meant to be there. After his release, Law confirmed Sengoku's suspicions that Vergo had played a large part in his demise.

"The kid wasn't that bad," the Buddha had said when he briefly caught up with Aokiji. They'd just defeated Jack the Drought, and the now Inspector General remained silent about the Pheasant's presence. He had rescued Smoker, after all. "Cold, hard, and a D. Not much Rocinante in him."

Aokiji nodded, looking over the choppy ocean, Camel napping to the side of the ship. It was night, a skeleton crew on watch, and those not sleeping were looking after those injured, or guarding the few Don Quixote members captured. There was definitely more Doflamingo in the kid than his brother.

"But he loved Rocinante, and it's obvious Rocinante loved him."

"Not so cold then."

"No."

 **oOOo**

Two years after Dressrosa, the navy swooped on Doflamingo's hideout island, arresting the whole Family, Law supposedly one of them. The Heart captain soon escaped marine imprisonment. When Sengoku learnt – through Smoker, through rumours, through tough talk from Kureha and Tsuru, through files – just what Doflamingo and ex-vice admiral Vergo and, more so, Fleet Admiral Akainu and Admiral Kizaru had done to Law, the old man did what he could to counteract the world of terror that Akainu unleashed.

He tried to weaken, if not stop, the damaging rumours spread about the Heart captain. Along with Fujitora and others, they all worked together, ultimately with Luffy, to make things better.

When Law finally lost his bounty, Luffy the pirate king wearing his crown at a very crooked angle, Sengoku was only too happy to go after Akainu with that strange crew of Garp, Shanks and Benn, Zoro, Marco, and Bleat.

And Sengoku had helped finish him because he knew what and who Roci had died for, and damned if he'd continue to let the now-in-exile admiral be a threat to his adopted son's wishes that Law be free, that he have no limits placed on him. Even if those restrictions then and now were in the form of memory only.

Part of him maybe warmed to the pirate himself. It wasn't that unusual to come across them together, one bitching the other out, Law the politer of the two.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"Try this." Marco pushed across some rose water, a few leaves of mint floating on top. "Zoro said they picked up the habit in Alabasta."

"They're here?" Mercury, body a little askew like all the motley dogs they'd picked up, tail whipping back and forth like a black asparagus spear, was much friendlier than her absent, dark-haired, owner. She sniffed at Aokiji's legs.

Marco gestured that they go outside so that the ex-marine didn't have to stoop while chatting in the kitchen.

"Staying a while. They're down at the bar."

Aokiji took a sip. Not bad. Refreshing, he guessed, but basically water. He hoped Marco also had some coffee, or might be opening one of the wines he saw in the fridge. Later. He wasn't visiting for long and, though he was usually pretty steady, drunk cycling wasn't recommended. So, just a couple of glasses – later.

The two wandered through the house. Walking past the commemorative tea-towels that took up all the space on one of the walls was like entering a carnival fun house. The New World in absurdist detail.

Sengoku's goat, that Mink navigator pirate – Trafalgar's pet – in a wedding suit, a female mink (bride?) beside him, gormless members of his crew in the buff, torso upwards, thankfully, Smoker and Tashigi's nuptials, something to do with Shanks, Benn Beckman, and Buggy: All were on display.

As were more tea-towels of the Straw Hats and swords than he ever needed to see, submarines and lighthouses. Three separate designs, one featuring Brook, another Luffy as Pirate King, and a trio of the un-prettiest dogs in the world, took pride of place. They were garish as hell.

Some tea-towels of that whorehouse Eustass Kid owned were tucked in the corner, and others, especially the ones featuring that very cute tanuki or Mink navigator, seemed to have been made to support the clinics Law ran.

"These are the doc's," Marco waved at them. "He has a few strange interests." He eyed the faces of tragedy and comedy featured on the edge of Luffy's design, the major but not obvious reason why that one was displayed so prominently.

Aokiji had seen the collection in its nascent stages. Law - you could _not_ pick him.

"Does he collect doilies?"

"Dunno," Marco replied with a smile. "It wouldn't surprise me." He used the edges of the azure scarf slung around his neck to dab at the ever present perspiration the Island climate induced.

They settled into the deck chairs on the balcony. Aokiji complimented himself on not spilling his drink.

"Where is he?"

Mercury was now by his owner. One of them. The one who hadn't just taken off. Marco leant his fingers over the edge of his chair, and scratched at the back of her ears. She moved her tail lazily.

"Gone to see the old man."

Aokiji quickly tallied the months. Yeah, he guessed it was around about the time of year that they'd lost Roci.

"Not fighting?" He admired the view from their balcony, as he always did. These two kept a neat, functional ship – but not too neat. A couple of abandoned ashtrays, and half dead plants reflected they weren't overly careful. A few dishes by the sink awaiting washing.

Not too careless though. The garden was thriving.

Marco's eyes hardened slightly, but then relaxed. "No." He stood from his chair, heading in to get some wine, Aokiji hoped. "He just needs time away once in a while," he said before pulling open the sliding door.

"Ah." Aokiji didn't pursue it. Scratched at the back of his head. Whatever that meant. Probably on a ferocious tea-towel hunt.

Marco brought out a red and a white, both excellent choices. The Pheasant chose the red, and Marco re-joined him after pouring two glasses, leaving the bottle on the table between them.

"I'm heading that way myself."

.

Marco and Law had been together for some time, and Marco still had reservations about Sengoku. But without the old man there might have been no Cora, and without Cora, no Law. As the former fleet admiral and pirate captain found vestiges of Cora in one another, Marco could not find it in himself to deny his lover that link.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sengoku's involvement in Akainu's demise can be found in chapter three of _Birds of a Feather_ , and chapter thirty-one of _Repossession_. Bepo's wedding is in the fic of the same name. Smoker and Tashigi's wedding is in _Birds of a Feather_ , and general info about the tea-towel designs is in chapter 25 and 31 of _Repossession_. They're sprinkled throughout most of the fics.

 **Thanks for reading**. If you liked it, all forms of feedback are welcome. I'm open for discussion, even if you didn't :-) We have a series of relatively quiet chapters with character development and interaction for a while. We return to the Red Force soon.


	15. Haughtiness - MarcoLaw - Mountain Time

**Chapter fifteen - Does my Haughtiness Offend you? (Mountain Time)**

* * *

"Hey."

"Pirate." Marco had the phone – the smart den-den mushi – tucked against his ear and shoulder as he washed down the counter. His slow smile let Sarah, the barkeep, know who was on the other end. Good. She missed him too when he was gone. He was the best boss. They both were. And a good customer.

"Busy?"

Marco glanced around the bar to see if anyone needed serving. "Not at the moment." He rested back against the drinks' counter, crossing his ankles, holding the phone to his ear now.

"The Pheasant's here."

"Aokiji?"

"Dropped off your herbs."

" _Your_ herbs."

"And the tomato leaves."

"I did good?"

"Mmm."

Law sat outside the hut. Aokiji and Sengoku were laying down the futons inside. Bleat curled up beside him with her head on his lap. It was cold out here, the sky clear and star-clustered. Sengoku and Aokiji were exchanging old war tales, pouring each other old man sake, though Aokiji maybe had only ten years on Marco in non-mythical years. Ten years on Smoker. He should stay and listen. It was the stuff of legends. But he'd wanted to hear Marco's voice.

"Where you sleeping tonight?"

"With Bleat."

"They making you?"

"My choice. Old man's only got two futons."

"Unh." Law had roughed it tougher but he'd been a lot younger. Marco understood that he wouldn't be able to sleep near the two ex-marines. Across the years, using methods introduced by Trixie, Law's tough love truck-stop mama shrink (with a heart of gold), Marco and his partner had refigured the nightmares and unconscious behaviour that stemmed from them into something less harmful.

Neither feared him slipping into a somnolent abyss, but he knew his triggers. There was no way he could have two of them so physically near him while he tried to sleep.

"I scanned the area. Cleaned her and the room of any fleas, muck. Sengoku's ex- forces, right? So he's still pretty disciplined. The hut's rudimentary, but clean. Not so different from the deck of the Sunny. Warmer."

Marco knew Sengoku wouldn't let Law freeze. "How long's Aokiji staying there?"

"Said he'd be heading out the day after tomorrow. I'll ask him about Robin, maybe Flevance, if I get the chance. He knew Cora, or knew of him."

Marco wished he could be there, idly doodling his fingers on his Law's back as he tried to pass off interrogation as conversation. All four men at the table, his pirate dressed like some lumberjack, his own arm dropping from Law's back to rest slack across the frame of the chair next to him. He'd be scanning Law's clothes for some tucked-away insignia.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Had a moment before. Gave Kizaru's heart a massage."

"Good." Marco was of the mind Law should torture that bastard more often.

"Bleat likes me." As if listening, she let out a small exhalation, a trusting sigh as her head pushed further into Law's thigh, her muscles easing into sleep. Law kept a hand against her fur.

"She always has."

"Cora-san knew her. She comes from Drum. Seems they live forever too."

"The goats?"

"Yeah. Must have Doctor Kureha's genes."

Marco took a swallow of a beer he'd popped open. Made eye contact with a regular and then looked to Sarah to serve him. He'd chat later. Law and he were well-known and got on with the locals. He wouldn't lose him as a customer if someone else took care of him this one time.

He wandered out the back to view the ocean, taking his drink with him. Sat on the bench recessed into the outside wall of the shack that housed their business.

"Luffy and Zoro stayed a few days."

"Good." They often dropped in. "How's Mercury?"

"Knows who feeds her."

"You trying to guilt me? Tell her I'll be back soon."

"Yeah, well she's not starving."

"Just as well one of us is responsible then."

Yeah, Marco thought, leaning down to let some of the beach sand drain through his fingers.

"I'll be back soon."

"Good."

"Thanks for the leaves."

"Don't let it be said that Marco the Phoenix doesn't know top grade weed when he sees it."

Law laughed. "I wouldn't be so presumptuous, though I wouldn't want you usurping Sarah."

"Not a hope in hell." He pictured Law inhaling the scent of the tomato leaves in their garden, leaning on his shoulder, trying to convince him of their hidden charms. "You sure are a cheap date, Nana."

Old ladies weren't known for their extravagance, Law thought, resting his head against the rough stone of Sengoku's hut, lips upturned.

"Except you just have to make sure Aokiji is cycling by just at the right time," he said.

"I didn't say you weren't difficult. And my hands got sticky."

"I'm guessing that happens quite often when you think of me." Law felt like a cigarette on nights like this. He shifted Bleat's head, gaining her disapproval, and brought one knee up to the bench. She grumbled and tried to regain her pillow, but curled into a ball and pushed against Law's flank when she realised she couldn't.

"Damn right." _Stop teasing, Law_. "When're y'home?"

"Soon, Charlie. You got my shirt?"

"With the phoenixes? Yeah." Marco's voice was evening slid into night. "Sleep with it on my pillow."

Law felt the silver band, bracelet, bangle. Sengoku was partially right. Whenever he'd removed Misery's collar, or Mecury's, they'd look at him startled as if he'd removed their tails, which he could do of course. It was as if they didn't realise the collar had been placed around their necks to restrict them, that they thought it was a part of their being. They'd sniff their own scent on the leather, and settled once he replaced them.

He'd never willingly submit to shackles. He and Marco didn't play that way, and every time they'd been removed after his captivity, during it – whether they were seastone or the regular _keep-this-dangerous-beast-under-control_ kind – relief washed through him, over him. Particularly of course if it was kairoseki being removed.

But he'd had two years way-back-when of them being a daily companion. He'd learnt to function – good and bad – with them on his wrists, had the permanent marks left behind to show it. His younger captivity under Doflamingo had featured them too, but not as a permanent fixture.

It took him a while to figure out why he felt so imbalanced sometimes once freedom was gained – well, really there were a lot of reasons – but as if something was physically missing, and he realised that he missed the habit of curling one of his hands, his fingers around the cool metal. At first he'd been trying to find a way to break them, to loosen them, and then it just became habit as he thought, or read, or they abused him in some way that didn't involve his hands. Maybe they weirdly worked in the same way as the grounding stones.

So he'd found a replacement. One wrist only. He couldn't bring himself to wear two, though he might wear a few leather bands on occasion. He couldn't imprison his own self. But the weight brought comfort, and he moved the band up his forearm as he spoke to Marco. He didn't always wear the silver. He chose to wear it. It was an expression as well as providing comfort.

"As long as you don't give that shirt to Mercury. That stitchwork was a bitch."

Marco pictured Law swift and exact with his with his sharps, straw and milliner's needles. It was like talking to a dealer when he explained the process with his methodical intensity. Law was well-versed in nearly everything he enjoyed.

"Can you imagine someone with your power as clumsy as Cora, from what you've told me about him."

Law didn't sew with his power, but some surgeon's skill definitely came into it.

"Oh God. The man would slice his own head off."

"You ever done that?"

"Not unintentionally." Law's eyes were closed against the night sky. Goddamn, that had been a trip.

"How was it?"

"Hell trying to get my head back onto my body with my central nervous system detached."

Sarah heard Marco's quick bark of a laugh through the back door. Good. Her bosses usually got on. It was good to hear this call was no different.

"How'd you manage?"

"Penguin and Shachi were in the room. It was a controlled experiment."

"And they didn't fuck with you?"

"Oh they fucked with me all right. If I ever get it into my mind again that it's a great idea to decapitate myself, talk me out of it, okay?" Law grinned.

"What happened?"

"They put my head on back to front, upside down, contemplated football."

"That's mutiny."

"Yeah. Ex-slaves toying with authority, an authority. Go figure."

"Penguin?"

"Not a slave, I know, but he grew up around enough of us."

"You didn't have a leg to stand on."

"That I did. Two very uncoordinated but upright sticks. I just didn't have a head to hold."

Law opened his eyes and lowered his rather robust leg to the ground now. He'd have to join the geezers soon.

"How'd you get your reputation?"

"Huh. Robin asks me the same thing, _all_ the time."

.

Ah, Marco missed Law, he could hear his smile bouncing around the antennae the mushi had developed to speed up mass communication in the New World – or Franky developed it, the mushi just went along for the ride. But Law hadn't been gone that long, and had been gone much longer in the past.

"I wouldn't give that shirt to Mercury, Law." The black on black embroidery was for Law and Marco alone. "And I wouldn't do anything to make it sticky. Well, your scent ingrained into that shirt might drive me to that . . ."

"But you'd finish off with tissues," Law said, matter of fact. He wished he'd brought a drink outside with him. "Let's go back to tomato leaves."

"Ah. I was just warming up. Are we vanilla?"

"Yeah."

"Don't tease me then, Law." But the slight tiredness and apology in Law's voice broke him.

"Sorry."

Marco took a sip of beer. "Ah, it's alright. Mercury seems to favour my t-shirt, this dog around."

"Good." It meant she wasn't pining and that one of his own shirts hadn't been relegated to an eternal tug-of-war between canine comfort and the need to do laundry.

.

"Did I do something, Law?"

Law swallowed. It had been a tough day.

"You know how it is."

"Not always."

"Kikoku was pretty insistent." Her wailing, gnashing of teeth, sweeping of hand across her brow if she had a human form. So melodramatic sometimes.

"She really felt cheated in not getting Doflamingo's head, hey?"

"Guess so."

"She was after mine?"

"This time round."

Marco shifted the phone to his other ear, cursing as his cheek pushed against one of the dials. He hoped he hadn't hung up accidentally. It was difficult to get a clear connection to the mountains.

"Why so late in the game, Law? I get that she wants to slay me. But why this many years on?"

In the alpine air, the mobile den-den popped a little bubble of mucus. The battery was running down. Law tucked his free hand between Bleat and himself, trying to warm it.

"There was a lot going on at the time. I don't think she could make up her mind. Kid, Zoro, you, me."

She had trembled with approval when he'd squeezed Kizaru's heart earlier. That was another scalp she'd been cheated of. She was in Sengoku and Aokiji's care at the moment.

"You?"

"Yeah. The cursed sword's always after its owner's head."

"Didn't you give that to her when you sliced yours off?"

"Hah. I don't think it counts if it doesn't kill me. She was pissed off that I wasn't fighting. She's a predator. I was vulnerable to attack from her by not being grounded, not being able to move forward."

"It was a tough time, Law."

"I know."

.

Marco knew Law didn't want to hear his apologies. He'd heard them a thousand times over. They'd made their decision. They were together, but sometimes Law just had to get away.

"I'm sorry I'm not there, Marco."

The blond almost dropped the phone. He took another quick drink instead.

"Her singing's quietened?"

"A little."

"Don't be sorry, Law. This is how we get through."

"Running away?" Law brought his coat about him. Even Bleat shivered a little.

"Sengoku been passing judgement again?"

"Yeah."

"We can't own the other. That was a hard lesson. You've always known it. I slipped up. That'll never change. Take your time, Law. I get to smack down Vista and Izou's smack talk. Can't do that when you're around."

"You don't smack down the smack when I'm there?" He admired his breath floating on the air like a dragon's whisper.

"You know how to take care of yourself, and they know it."

.

Marco stood and wandered a little way from the shack.

"I've made a few mistakes in my life, and one of the biggest was screwing you up." He stopped himself from adding endearments. "No-one can do that – screw you up – for long, I know, you're too strong, but you carry a heavy load, Law. I added to it." Made the weight almost unbearable.

The person Law trusted the most fucked him up the most. It was almost as if Cora had taken back the words of love he'd left Law with, popping up alive and well. _Only joking, bro. Bro? White monster. You're just as repulsive as ever_.

"It's never been a mistake to be with you. From the beginning until now, where you're sitting on top of some crag miles away from home."

With the man who ordered the death of your first great love, Law thought.

"Whether you come back or not – at any stage – the next time you need to go, it's never been a mistake and never will be."

Law raised his hand to his face. Bleat's goaty aroma covered it, but the smell of the leaves remained. There was no guarantee that Marco would be there when he went home either. Maybe he would leave one time too many.

Thank god for the dogs, though he could get used to Bleat.

Thank god for the dogs, thought Marco, tugging absently at his hair. He knew he was lucky that Law had returned, back then, and if not for Misery, he wasn't sure he would have.

"Even if you decide to stay there forever, or come home and, for whatever reason, figure we're done, the only wrong turn in all of it would have been my fuck-up. You know I don't want anyone else, but whatever decision you make when Kikoku's tapping into ley lines woven by the Danaids, it's the right one, Law. I'll always recognise that."

Because he'd been so unable to acknowledge before. Had wilfully ignored boundaries in order to legitimise his own impulses. At Law's expense.

.

Law sighed. It was good to hear, but always difficult. "Cora's anniversary's in a few days."

Marco knew he didn't mean birthday.

"Wish I could help out."

"Ah, I know it's tough with Sengoku, but we'll come up again when Kikoku's calmed herself to a fine-powdered hum." The kind made from ground bones.

"When you have."

Kikoku crooning, Law's brain buzzing – there was sometimes a difference, but not always.

"Yeah, that too. Did Luffy take care of you?"

"Who took care of who?"

"As long as Zoro was around somewhere, things should've been okay."

They got a nice view of the stars on the islands, but it was amazing up here, where the only source of light was the fire Sengoku had crackling away in the hearth.

"Marco?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"Brought the basalt with me. I've got the agate too, of course, but seeing as I was visiting a mountain, seemed fitting."

Marco guessed his words resonated with Law at some point then to bring this up now. The basalt usually sat in a box of curios Law kept, which included Doflamingo's earrings and the last teaspoon Vergo ever had stuck to his face.

"Not because you wanted a reminder of your man in a full phoenix flight of vengeance and fury?" Marco walked back to the bar and popped his head in. Still quiet, which was usual for this time of day, this day of the week.

" _Partly_ on my behalf, Marco-ya."

Marco ducked his head and wandered away from the back door. A lazy grin.

"Yeah, well, you are chatting with his executioner."

"And you took out his executioner."

"With his executioner's help."

 _Meh-eh-eh-eh._

The goat's bell rang as she lifted her head and stared at Law. Time to go inside.

"We couldn't have done it without you, darling," Marco crooned down the phone to the goat. And they couldn't have. Bleat covered in a fine seastone powder pushed into a hut similar to Sengoku's own, weakening Akainu before he was taken out.

"You use that stone often?"

"About as often as you sleep with my shirt. If not more. It's always in my pocket."

Law reassured the goat. They'd be warm soon.

Marco smiled. Whichever decision Law made. It was the right one.

* * *

 **A/N** : The last two chapters and this one all really belong together, so I'll post this one early.

So, we have four threads in this story, I think: **Red Force** (past), **Captivity** (past-past), **Mountain time** (present) and general One Piece past (Cora, Robin, etc.). Hopefully they're merging.

I haven't forgotten my opening chapters :-), and we return (or go back) to the **Red Force** next chapter.

For those who are interested, further expansion on the importance of the dogs (Misery, Mephistopheles and Mercury), chapters 30 and 31 of _Repossession_ cover them, but they especially feature in the AO3 _Teaspoon Collectors_ and _A Rascal, A Rogue, A Scamp_ (available complete on FFN, it's only three chapters).

The (serious) incident between Law and Marco is explored in depth in _Teaspoon Collectors_ (AO3), and summarised in _Birds of a Feather_ (available complete on FFN, it's also only three chapters). _Birds of a Feather_ covers Akainu's death too, chapter 3.


	16. Long, thin, slimy ones - Red Force

**A/N: Warnings:** Nothing too much. Reflection on past abuse. Not graphic, but maybe uncomfortable. After the first **oOOo** break, finished by the second.

* * *

 **Chapter sixteen – Long, thin, slimy ones; Short, fat, juicy ones**

* * *

Law sat in the hull, a small smile after Robin's phone call. He tucked the transponder back into his jeans pocket and returned all the matches. They flew from the candelabra, the chandelier – red, brown and green-head matches converging then separating like locusts, diving into their respective boxes. He replaced all but ten around the ship.

Law's touch was light, or the matches were, because he could be heavy-handed, and it wasn't until later that night that Benn noticed them back in his pocket, and what was missing? A pile of lint and dust piled up in that small room. Law was a few measly beri richer.

Robin's words came back to him.

He knew they were in jest, but really, very few of those he cared about had seen that orifice, white speckled or not. Not lately, anyway. Law wasn't even sure if Luffy, Robin's supposed informant, _had_.

Strawhat was mostly inexperienced when they'd first found loss in one another, when the enormity of being so close to saving someone and not being able to do a thing about it while their life was snuffed out in front of you – because you were too damn weak – ripped through them both. Ruptured all sutured seams.

Not entirely inexperienced, though. Luffy was a sailor, a pirate, and the captain of his own strange crew after all. You grew up fast in the worlds they came from. Law knew better than anyone that predators lurked, observed, acted. Where the rules were unruly, boundaries were ignored. Also where rules were stringent. Disenfranchised were disenfranchised. That didn't make it right. Law knew it didn't make it right.

As far as he was aware, Luffy had been spared any of that kind of attention, or been able to punch his way free of it. The kid was naïve and enthusiastic, but not without knowledge.

It had been a warm attraction, neither sweet nor desperate. Law had stumbled across Luffy's nightmares first, one night on the deck of the Sunny. At some post-Marineford level, the younger boy recognised maybe Bepo's imprint – which might just be part of Law's own cellular make-up now. It seemed he felt something for the man who had brought both him and Jimbei back from very near death. Bepo _was_ comforting. Law had been certain he was facing his own end in Dressrosa, so why not? Why not pursue something further when Luffy approached him?

The younger captain couldn't keep anything secret, but he didn't understand his own pain, so he didn't want to speak about it, and Law had been the only one among the two allied crews on the Sunny at the time to have witnessed it. Luffy finally let it seep into the nights they spent together.

It was usually dark. Law had thought he'd beaten most of his inner demons and was on his way to defeat the actual one. He'd led with a hurried confidence, or harried, considering Joker's influence and that he could appear anywhere at any time. He gave to Luffy so that he got back. Later, stupidly, suicidally constrained, crossing from one side of Dressrosa to another, some of the gaps in his own story were filled.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

 _White-spotted orifice_. Luffy rarely ventured near it, and the chipped marble-rough Law's mind had been ever since Doflamingo had caught and fucked him up and over _again_ , meant that, after his escape, he and Luffy mostly just went for what they could get from proximity. Everything was off-fucking-limits the second time round. He'd meltdown at a casual pat to the back. No wonder Zoro stepped in; Law curled in his shell, despite his age and experience.

He sighed. Turning the agate. Kikoku eager for another compliment. The footsteps of crew crossing the deck muffled down to where he sat. Who _would_ know without a doubt, whether amber lead had left its mark on the skin leading down and into his anus, was Doflamingo.

Vergo.

Law shut his eyes. Doflamingo liked to see the pain he inflicted. Vergo loved to see his expression. His fear. Oh, they'd know every mark on his body. Those they had made and the souvenirs of Flevance.

They knew the disease rattled him. Fuck, just seeing those two rattled him. They wouldn't have passed up the chance to tell him.

Doflamingo pulled a long string or ten from him once, pretending to seek worms from that same fucking anus. Tape worms. Law's hand shook slightly. He'd probably inserted them. That had been all. And that was more than enough.

He'd been young. Before Cora had kidnapped him. The cart of bodies was a clammy memory, two years gone, but the idea of maggots breaching his skin - - the disease was still eating him - - and now worms. Those strings were massively long and they wriggled in Doflamingo's hands. A scream worked its way around his clenched teeth. He'd backed up, scrabbled, to the top of the bed, his head hitting the wall. He'd been sleeping.

One of Joker's parlour tricks. Baby 5 and Buffalo in their nightwear doubled over in laughter just near the door. Doflamingo had patted his cheek with closed fingers, that huge fucking hand. "Just a joke, na, Law?" He wiggled the fingers of his other hand like the puppet-master he was, the strings dancing.

Doffy's giggles joined Baby 5 and Buffalo's own. He turned side-on and mugged Law's startled, scrunched-up face, and the squeaking panic he was trying to silence, until the other kids slapped the floor and told him to stop, they couldn't catch their breath, couldn't take it any more. A red spread pale under the white splotches covering Law's skin. At least the young master hadn't tried to kill him. He didn't need to wreak that kind of revenge, just had to grow tougher.

Fettuccine was on the menu the next day. The executives twirled the strands on their forks, and let them hang from their mouths. "Scary, ne, Law? We asked the cook to make your favourite!" Trebol called out, making the pasta dangling from his lips slither into his mouth.

"Worms!" Diamante used his fruit to ripple through the piled up centre dish so the flat pasta writhed as much as Law was, internally at least.

Law stared at his meal, Baby 5 and Buffalo tittering next to him, and couldn't finish. The abuse didn't start until Cora was gone, dead, some time after that. But fuck, that memory messed with him.

Had Doffy tried that on him as an adult? Law as an adult? Probably. Re-traumatisation was his stock in trade. It wouldn't have ended with that _mad-as-a-cut-snake_ piece of shit walking away.

Law's hand covered his face in his dark little vault, and he registered wetness on his palm. So much happened. Every breathing second of some events could be recalled. Others were just excerpts. The night. His adult confinement. The torch. Yanking down his trousers. Fear of where that flashlight might end up. The string-worms, writhing in Doflamingo's fingers, constantly being pulled from his own body. "Just checking for parasites, Law, and look – _fuffufufu_ –you're riddled with them." Used to bind. Terror gripping his throat, or were they the strings? Was it fucking real? Or something from his nightmares?

Ah. Agate.

 _Enjoy yourself_. Robin's words. _Dereshishishi._

Marco deserved better. He didn't know what he could give. Bepo was on the ocean. Screw him. Not Bepo. Screw that fuck. No longer in front of him. Zoro could give Luffy all he needed. But Law _had_ progressed. He _could_ keep going. Cora wanted him to. It was just an action, after all.

Sengoku said Cora would have wanted him to live his life as he liked, and remembering Cora was the best way for them both to honour him. Doflamingo _wasn't_ there. Not in this small space at least. But out there, somewhere.

Cora wasn't there either of course, but Law knew which memory was worth giving weight to. He dropped his hand, and slipped it under his shirt for a second, resting it over the chest tattoo, the warmer skin absorbing moisture. Small mercies that Kizaru was more interested in him from behind than face on, that Doflamingo had not driven a cancel mark through the design. Law could still do the things he could, _because_ he _could_ , he thought, the rhythmic ocean of his blood pulsing under his fingers.

Because he could.

He stretched now, and opened the first of the boxes of matches he'd kept. He didn't use his power to arrange them – much – cutting and splicing them with a knife far smaller than his nodachi. Not with his scalpel though. Priorities. Humming tuneless accompaniment, he could beat Nico Robin in the atonal stakes, see if he couldn't.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Did he owe an apology? Maybe to Benn. Shanks for the commandeered rum. But to Marco? An explanation at least. He didn't think he'd said anything off. He just hadn't said anything. The sky was dusky purple by the time he re-emerged. He crossed the deck to the Phoenix's quarters, Kikoku against his shoulder, and heard the murmur of voices. Okay, wouldn't be staying, but it was mature to make contact. Wasn't it?

Glasses clinked, and laughter, the smell of a cheroot and Izou's favoured tobacco, permeated through the walls. When the Whitebeards sailed with Shanks, some of the commanders had their own rooms. He knocked.

"Entrez," Marco yelled.

Law pushed the door open, but stood in the archway. Smoke layered the room. Izou, assessing Law from a table where he sat with Marco and Vista, rolled his cigar in the ashtray. There were a few coins scattered on the table top, and Law thought of the few beri he'd collected this afternoon.

Marco glanced up from their card game. The geisha and swordsman exchanged looks.

"C'mon over, Doc." Vista pulled out a chair.

Law nodded, but he was too tired. Today wasn't the right day. His team was due back soon. He'd spend time with them.

Only Marco picked up on Law's weariness. He was surprised he wasn't blinking at the change in light, having buried himself away all day like a mole. Even the night sky was brighter than the hull.

"Thanks, but the Polar Tang's docking in a few. Need to catch up with the crew. Just a quick word with Marco. If you can spare him?"

Now Law was talking to him? Annoyance crossed Marco's face, but he fanned his hand on the table, face down, finished the booze left in his glass, and shot Vista and Izou a warning glance. No sneaking a look at the cards. As _if_ they wouldn't peek, but taking them with him would lead to accusations of cheating. His sandals made little noise as he crossed the room.

"Hurry back, lover," Izou crooned.

Marco, back to them, lifted a hand.

.

"What is it, little match girl?" he asked as he reached the door. He adjusted his sash and followed the younger man out as he stepped to the side of Marco's room. Law leant against the exterior wall of the cabin and Marco joined him. The night had settled and clouds hid any stars.

"Set the hull on fire and need your help to douse it."

"Is that so?" Could he be pissed off with this kid? Law, contrite, not losing his hold on the nodachi. Well, he'd seen that before. He was a lot calmer than that morning's antics, that was one thing.

The Heart looked down, his slight smile gone. "I'm sorry. I freaked out. I'll still probably freak out."

What was Marco meant to make of that? He cocked his head, arms folded against his chest. "Every time? I mean, we didn't even do anything."

Law looked exhausted. "I know."

"You need to trust if we go ahead."

Law nodded. _If_.

"We can talk," Marco said.

Law looked up, turned his head. "That would be good." Was it more than he deserved? "Doflamingo and Vergo don't visit every day of the week."

Life on the ocean was tough. Pops had offered shelter to the lepers of the sea and the land. What would he have said to Law? How would he have treated this lacerated man? The Heart captain's enemies were cruel, strong and cruel. Strong men could fail. They all knew that at a personal level. It wasn't like Blackbeard was the milkman of human kindness.

"Or even every week of the year," Marco said. But it was good to hear Law understand what had set him off and that he recognised their absence. Marco pulled himself off the wall, and stood in front of Law, blocking him against the cabin.

Law decided it was fine. He had to slouch for the phoenix to truly hem him in, but didn't straighten. There wasn't aggression in the movement, but he stopped himself from acting into it. Kikoku rested against his shoulder.

"Okay, Law?"

"Okay, what?"

"They're gone."

Marco patted his cheek, not in the way a commander might do to a subordinate, but in the way he might to one of his friends. Confusion crossed Law's face. He grabbed the hand, eyes inflamed and Marco was left talking to and holding a sandwich. Ah, Law's crew would be pissed off. There wasn't much bread on the Polar Tang from what he understood. The sub must have docked. Egg though, one of his favourites.

He shook his head – the kid was _too_ touchy. Bristly-touchy, definitely not touchy-feely-touchy. He stuffed the sandwich into his mouth, despite the nibbled corner, and wandered back to the card game. Law's version of a love letter? He doubted it.

Izou looked up, his cool face neither betraying nor admitting he'd peeped at Marco's cards. "What was that all about? He wanted to feed you?"

Marco shrugged. Fucked if he knew. Was the Heart Captain worth it beyond the occasional fuck and his crew's egg sandwiches?

"He can thank Red-Hair that he didn't sell his scrawny arse right back to that pink-feathered shichibukai." Izou topped up Marco's glass. The three men clinked their drinks, and swallowed.

"Ex-shichibukai."

"He's Shanks' consort now?"

Marco picked up his cards very deliberately, then looked over them at the sixteenth division commander with an expression telling him to shut it. Izou felt Law acted way above his station. He knew the North Blue pirate had the occasional fling with Marco, but was something more serious shaping up?

"He's an equal, Izou. No-one can sell him to anyone."

"Equal to a yonkou?" None of them had been equal to Whitebeard.

"Equal to us."

Izou lifted an eyebrow. Very few were equal to Marco, and Law definitely wasn't equal to a geisha, but that was some fruit he had.

"Who patched you up after the last battle when Doc was busy?" Marco asked him.

"Different skill set, that's all."

"But not without value."

Vista coughed and placed a straight on the table, Marco followed with a flush, and Izou trumped them with a royal flush. The phoenix lifted an eyebrow, but let it go as Izou pulled the pot towards him.

"What did Doflamingo want, anyway?" Vista asked, picking up the cards and shuffling, throwing a few coins into the centre of the table.

Marco sighed. His brows were so high his droopy eyes seemed closed. "Law's scrawny arse."

"Save us a lot of trouble if we just handed him over," Izou murmured, surveying his cards, discarding three face down on the table. Marines had renewed interest in the two crews since the Hearts had started sailing with them. And no-one wanted to deal with Doflamingo more than they had to. The man's dress sense was a travesty.

"He's insane." Marco lifted two fingers Vista's way and was dealt the cards.

"Who practiced his sword skills on matchsticks today?" Izou folded.

"It's not the same as practicing them on prisoners bound in seastone. Doflamingo's a sadist."

A rapist.

Marco threw a few more coins into the centre of the table.

"See and raise," Vista upped the betting. Marco absconded with a few coins from Izou's stash, he'd gained them by dubious means after all, and matched the swordsman. They were only playing for a few beri. They showed their hands and Vista cleared the table of the small change. The geisha was still ahead.

"Remember what he did to Little Oars Junior? Atmos? Imagine living with _that_. Being caught by it? Law's life wasn't easy." Far from it, and that story about the marines. And the younger slave, Law's friend, shot by Doflamingo in front of him. Marco downed his drink almost as quickly as the surgeon had the day before, debriefing with Shanks and Benn after the visit – ambush? – from the Don Quixote contingent.

"A slave's life never is," Izou murmured, dealing out the cards.

"Ex-slave."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"You _know_ I like egg sandwiches." They'd been made fresh, instead of from the powdered crap they usually had to eat.

Law gave a consoling tap or two to Shachi's hat, and gestured to Bepo to fire up the hotplates. He guessed he'd startled the redhead, landing on top of the table like that. He'd quickly jumped off it, dusting himself down, securing Kikoku against the edge. Couldn't they accept he was just eager to see them?

Penguin came from behind and embraced him.

"That was some entrance."

Law laughed, melting backwards into the creased, crumpled, butcher paper smell of his oldest friend, his ex. So practical, reliable. He felt his breath against his back.

"You don't piss off the cook," Shachi complained from the table, picking up the half sandwich that Law hadn't vanished, that his oafish foot _hadn't_ – by providence alone – squashed. "Just because you don't like bread."

It was only the three of them in the mess so Penguin kept Law close. Was there something wrong? The fact that Law didn't step from his hold meant there might be. They hadn't checked in yet, nor checked out anything that had happened in their absence. "He's not going to stop whining until you fix it, you know," he mock whispered near Law's ear, having to stretch up a little to do so. He gave his hand a questioning squeeze.

Law turned, ducked his face, and Penguin caught a flash of anger and fear, quickly replaced by his sardonic smile.

"Shambles"

Some of the better alcohol from the captain's quarters landed on the table. Law had considered using the remaining half of Shachi's sandwich to replace it, but a few pairs of chopsticks clattered to the floor of his liquor cabinet instead. Shachi lit up at the brands.

"Pour us a drink?" Law asked.

"Aye-aye, boss." Shachi jumped up, all sandwich-snatching forgiven, and poured a drink for anyone sitting in the mess at the time, as was Law's custom. Thankfully for the alcohol supply, that narrowed down to Penguin, Bepo and himself. The rest of the Hearts were hanging out with the Red-Hair and Whitebeard crews, relieved to be off the sub.

"Zou noodles," said Bepo, bringing across a heaped plate of yakisoba. "Made with buckwheat." He was of course aware of the captain's allergies, and despite its name, he knew that this genuine soba - grey-brown noodles - were made from a seed, not a grain, and they didn't inflame them. "Dig in."

Law looked at him with such a grateful expression, though he looked a bit taken aback at the _form_ of the soba for a second, that Bepo wondered if something had gone down while they were gone. He turned to get four plates, placed them on the table, and turned to look at his captain again. Minute splinters of wood stuck to his clothes. What had he been up to? He pulled out a chair and joined the other three.

"We might have found Bepo a partner," Penguin said, touching his glass against Law's own. Shachi nodded, looked up, shovelling noodles into his mouth.

Law studied his navigator.

Bepo rolled his eyes. "As if they'd be of any use." He gestured to his crew mates.

"It was a successful trip then?" It was good to be here. He missed sailing with his team.

"I don't know why we all needed to go help Bepo," Penguin groused.

"Wasn't Zou just a pit-stop?"

"Yeah, but."

"Weren't you guys the ones who wanted to explore the seas for a while, bored of sailing with the other crews?" Law asked, securing a piece of fish from Shachi's plate. Shachi grumbled and pulled his plate from Law's poised chopsticks. Hadn't he already stolen enough of his food today?

"Yeah, but."

"No trouble with Doflamingo?"

Three heads swivelled his way. Their captain's face was blank. What did he know?

"Good then."

.

Law slept on the Polar Tang that night. Not submerged, and engines at a low hum, just enough to maintain the basic services needed to take care of his crew. It was warm, but Law could control this sphere and what went on within. The night before Kikoku had stood at the head of the bed, nearby but a safe distance away, as Law had lain with Marco. Tonight she slept beside him.

* * *

 **AN: Thanks for reading.**

For those interested, Law and Luffy's story runs throughout _Reposssession_ , but is given special focus in chapter 6, chapter 7, and a little in chapters 8 and 9. As always, please read the warnings for each chapter.

In relation to the agate and Law's difficulties with relationships, it is especially explored in _Agate: Law and Luffy._

The mention of the slave Doflamingo shot is explored in chapters 16 and 17, which are Law/Marco chapters.

Law's relationship with Penguin is also told in those chapters, and further expanded in Chapter 18, _Landlubbers: Law, Penguin._

I hope the chapter can be read standalone, but just for the readers who might be curious.


	17. Lettuce - Marco, Law, Bepo, Red Force

**Chapter Seventeen – My baby wrote me a lettuce - Red Force**

* * *

"Not all Dung beetles are governed by the moon, Marco. Some follow the Milky Way, the constellations, to and from their destinations. Just like any seafarer." Except it was really the intensity of light they hung their journey upon, pulling the equivalent of a thousand galleons across the sands.

Marco listened. Bepo was the Heart crew's navigator, after all. They stood on the deck out of the way of everyone's main business. "You proposing I woo him with dried manure?"

"Works for the Minks," Bepo drew himself up to his full height. "And not just dried dung, but Eau d'Ordure. Very hard to come by, and available only under the most exacting of conditions."

Marco laughed. He'd sailed with the Minks, Nekomamushi and Inuarashi under Whitebeard, and they'd both sought him out after the Strawhats had landed on Zou, after the Whitebeard loss during the Payback War. He wasn't sure what the Heart pirates had been doing. Scouring the seas for Law? They'd hooked up later.

"I don't think handing him a shit-sandwich is going to work."

"You don't eat it!" Bepo rolled his shoulders. Okay, he got that humans couldn't understand the finesse that went into crafting and extracting the fragrance from Zunisha's gift. There were reasons _why_ they were the lesser-Minks. Even if this guy was part avian. "What's happening here, anyway? You're seriously interested in Captain?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

"Who wouldn't be?"

"He's got a lot to get over."

"To get past. Yes, he does." He looked at Marco, a query between them. "He's worth it. If I asked your own crew that question about you, what would they say?"

Marco ignored the question. He looked down at the wood he was whittling. He'd use it for piercing some vampire's heart, he guessed. Maybe Law could use it as a stake in his small medicinal garden. "He's jumpy."

Bepo ran an eye over the Whitebeard commander again. How much did he know? Marco looked up at the scrutiny.

"I've seen the scars."

Bepo pulled himself up again. There were probably plenty he hadn't seen. "Then you know why he's jumpy."

Marco turned the stick in his hand and moved the knife toward him, Bepo wondering if he'd need to put his stitching skills to practice – or rather, another member of the crew with hands better suited.

The Phoenix blew a puff of air upwards, lifting his hair minutely. Why _was_ he contemplating this? "I saw Ace die, Bepo."

"Captain won't die."

"What would Ace think?" Marco eyed the grain of the fear-quaking harpoon he'd shaped.

"Seems I shouldn't be the one answering that question. Wouldn't he be happy you were interested in someone Mugiwara trusts, someone who saved his little brother?"

"We all had a part in that."

"True, and everyone grieved Ace's murder, and of course none so deeply as family." He held Marco's gaze to let him know he acknowledged the special relation Newgate had with his sons. "But without the operation, Garp would have lost two grandsons."

The Mink had sought him out. He'd wanted to talk with some of the crew anyway, but he didn't know who to approach. The ex seemed best, but approaching exes was rarely a good idea.

The Hearts weren't always with the Red-Hairs, in the way that the Whitebeards weren't. They sailed under the loose umbrella of protection and possibility that Shanks' patronage offered. The only one constantly with the Red Force was Law. When the depleted Whitebeard forces set out, so did Marco.

The surgeon usually slept on board the Red Force. Shanks had given him a functional cabin. There was an infirmary, and the small garden where he managed, somehow, to grow herbs for both medicine and the kitchen.

Even when the sub docked, Law didn't often sleep in it – used to his cabin and the fresh ocean air, rather than the humid, closeness of the Polar Tang. His crew was trained and could take care of most medical needs. Not so the loose affiliates on board the Red Force. But last night he had closed himself in his captain's quarters, and even though his three closest friends had wanted to escape the confines of the tin can themselves, they stayed. Something wasn't right.

"Vergo and Doflamingo visited." Marco folded his pocket knife, and placed both it and the stick in his pocket.

"You fought?"

"Law shambled himself and me to the deck. We sat it out."

"Nobody was hurt?" The Mink held the handrail tighter than he needed to.

"Not physically."

Bepo lifted his lips. Sharp teeth, Marco took note, and looked out to the ocean.

"I stayed with him that night. We thought he'd get nightmares, but I wanted to, too, and it seemed he wanted me to."

Bepo had noticed the occasions that Marco and Law spent in each other's company. They had a good friendship, but he knew it crossed into the physical at times. Not often though. About as often as the prime conditions occurred for harvesting Zunisha's dung.

"Wanted nothing to do with me the next day. Or, he just disappeared. Didn't kick me out or anything. It's always been a bit wham-bam-thank you-Ma'm prior to that." Marco glanced at Bepo, no-nonsense. "But that wasn't what that night was about. It wasn't what we discussed. He talked me through the grounding stone, that gem Strawhat gave him."

Bepo nodded.

"He visited my cabin about when you guys docked, then – _whoom_ – left me holding a sandwich."

Bepo tipped his head back. "How was it?"

"Not bad." Marco nodded in approval. Tussled the back of his teeth with a finger as if there was still a piece of bread stuck there.

"Good. The eggs were from Zou chickens. Shachi wasn't happy."

"Not my fault."

"No. The captain got an earful. He's inconsiderate at times, especially where bread's concerned."

Marco laughed. "What am I to do with him?" It seemed he was asking the water.

"He's not really complicated, just takes him a long time to trust if you're not a polar bear Mink," Bepo said. It was one of the irrefutable laws of nature. "Did you touch him?"

"He had no trouble with it the night before."

"Doflamingo and Vergo came to the ship."

"Yeah, I know." How could Marco forget? But he kept doing so. "We didn't sleep together, by the way, but I did see his scars."

"You didn't fuck?"

Marco shook his head.

"Why do you want to start something with him?"

"He's intriguing." He'd helped him out with his memories of Ace, but he wasn't a replacement. "Why does he want to start something with me?"

"He likes you - - Why didn't you fuck?"

"He didn't want to."

"You understand why it's difficult."

"Yeah."

"Can you manage that?"

"I don't know."

The bear loomed in a bit closer, and Marco eyed the claws extending from his paws. Could Bepo use electro? You didn't want a Mink on your bad side.

"You better be able to. He's loyal, Marco. He's giving, and he likes touch."

"I got some of that." Marco had his back resting against the handrail now, checking out the scudding clouds above.

"He's got to feel secure. Maybe he has to control at first. He knows he's fucked up."

"Others have fucked him up." Doflamingo could travel easily on a day like today.

"Yeah."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

It had been a stream of whingeing pirates, one after the other, with minor injuries, aches and pains. Even Shanks and Benn had visited. He'd been wanting to visit the Polar Tang to see what supplies they needed for the next trip out, and what items his crew had brought back for the operating theatre. He couldn't get there.

"It's a hangover, Shanks. Water and sleep."

Shanks sat at the table, resting his head on his hand, face miserable. "Can't you use your magic to remove the ache?"

"No."

"Spoilsport."

Benn burst through the door - very un-Benn-like - gripping his finger. "Paper cut!"

"What?"

"You're my guest, Trafalgar. I think it would be best that you treat him. Benn in pain is not a pleasant Benn." Law turned to the emperor. Shanks' face was deadly serious.

"It's a paper cut."

"They're the worst kind."

Law let out an annoyed huff. "Sit down. You, move over." Shanks' moved his seat so that Benn could pull one up next to him. They sent each other a quick smile when Law had his back turned.

"Do you have any alcohol that isn't medicinal?" Shanks shouted as Law ratted through the cabinets.

"In the infirmary? No. And keep your voice down. Don't you have a headache?" He turned to the table, placing supplies on top, tipped a bit of iodine on cotton wool and gently dabbed it on Benn's finger.

"You owe me a glass or two, Law."

Law looked across. Shanks had his screwball smile looping over his face, disrupting any attempt at sternness. He guessed he wasn't forgiven for removing the rum the day before. He'd only taken a sip and replaced it promptly.

"I couldn't even use that match," Shanks' complained, flicking his thumb and forefinger as if firing up a lighter.

"I sent it back. You got the better deal. And what do _you_ need a match for?" Law peeled back the covers of the plaster, and wrapped it around the first mate's finger. His patient's face remained calm.

"How does that work when it's my booze in the first place? And lover-boy likes me to light his cigarettes on occasion. It's romantic, y'know?"

Benn coloured.

Law shook his head, then smiled. That easy, filling-filled thing that promised chaos and good company. He gave up.

"Man," Law dumped the waste from "patching" Benn up into the nearby bin, "You saved my sanity with that rum. Thank you. And blame Nico Robin. She told me I needed something to drink."

"The Strawhats are always responsible," Benn nodded sagely, exhaling a plume of smoke. Shanks shook his head in an exasperated agreement. That crew was a lost cause. They should take a few lessons in propriety from him.

Law plucked the cigarette from Benn's mouth and ground it into a nearby plate. When did he light up?

"Not in the infirmary, Benn."

Benn turned to Shanks, mouth open in shock, still holding his hand away from his body, gingerly.

"You think he's on the rag?"

"The moon might be affecting him. It bothers some folks that way."

"Sure is tetchy."

Law sat down in front of his consulting desk, put his hands under his chin, elbows resting on the table. "What are you two playing at?"

"Doctor? Playing doctor?"

"That's me." Law fiddled with the stethoscope on the desk.

"You're _not_ a real doctor?"

"We've been gypped, Shanks." Benn eyed the cigarette Law had stubbed out, wondering if he could salvage it.

Law scratched at his forearm tattoo and waved them both out of the door with a smile. He started gathering the things he needed to head to the Polar Tang when Jozu shouldered his way through the door.

.

"Arm's hurting, Doc, where Aokiji sliced it. Hurting bad."

This one might be more serious. His shoulder, stump he meant. Law had plenty of practice with Shanks.

"Since when?"

"Every time the weather turns, it aches."

Law inspected the arm, found everything as it should be, but pain was pain. He prescribed a few analgesics. "And this splinter, Doc."

Jozu held up his mighty hand.

"Where?"

Jozu touched one fingertip to the other and flinched. "Got tweezer's, Doc? It's too small for me to get out." Plus, he only had one hand.

"Haven't you got other crew members who can do this for you?" A splinter for Jozu was probably a gangplank for Law.

"Haven't got the calibre of your care, Doc, and are you turning your back on your duty?"

"Removing splinters is my duty?"

Jozu jutted his chin out. "You'd do it for Jean Bart."

Law sighed. He was right. "Okay, okay." He grabbed the tweezers and spent an age trying to locate whatever was causing the diamond man pain. Minimal pain, though he hissed every time Law probed. Eventually he scanned and found nothing. Either it had been removed by now or there was nothing in the first place. He doused that point in iodine and put a plaster over it, as he had for Benn. Maybe Blenheim could kiss it better.

"Thanks, Doc. You're the best."

.

Ikkaku was next. His eyes clouded a little with concern. His own crew?

"I hit my shin on the last island, Cap."

Law nodded.

She sat on the consulting bed, lifted her jumpsuit pant leg and there was a tiny bruise that was already colouring yellow, healing.

"I think there might be internal bleeding."

"Ikkaku, you're part of my medical team." Law massaged the knot at the back of his neck.

"Can't be too careful, boss."

Whatever, it was one of those days. Law wrapped her shin and told her to keep an eye on it. To apply a cold compress if it caused more pain.

They didn't stop coming.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

He finally got to the Polar Tang when dusk again was settling over the skies. Shachi, Penguin, whoever, would pitch a fit – he was late. Sometimes he wondered who exactly _was_ the captain of their band of beasts. Yes, Ikkaku _could_ be more beastly than the rest of them.

The smell of cooking greeted him as he entered the sub. Law smiled, good. They were having grilled fish of some sort. He wandered to the infirmary first to check up on the supplies when Bepo appeared. From the look in his eye, Law knew he couldn't escape a Mink greeting. He didn't resist. Today was a roll with it day.

The Mink finally released his captain, and Law struggled not to show that he was catching his breath. You hadn't had a bear hug until you'd been hugged by a bear.

"This way. You haven't eaten."

Law readjusted his hat and looked up at Bepo. How'd he know?

"You've been flat-tack all day."

"Could have done with your help, Bepo. Folks were coming at me to treat their pimples." The two walked through the narrow corridor to the mess.

"Doesn't seem you'd need help with that."

"To turn them away."

Bepo showed his ferocious pointed teeth and Law laughed. He patted his navigator on his upper arm.

"We've got a few guests, Captain." Bepo guided his boss with a non-negotiable paw between his shoulders.

Law stiffened, Bepo propelled him forward.

"Don't worry. Friends. We wanted to show Shanks some gratitude for helping us out." _For sheltering you_. "They wanted to repay you for treating their ingrown toenails."

Law's expression lost its softness. He was comfortable around these men after this time, but they weren't his crew. Marco should be among them. He liked to sit at the edges of parties, to observe them. A few terse words with Smoker at Punk Hazard, marine and pirate on the outer limits of Strawhat mayhem, was about as much attention as needed.

"You spend every breakfast with them."

"So do you."

"Not at their table."

"I don't always sit there." And it was true. If his crew was there, he'd often sit with them. Marco, also with his crew. But other times, the four leaders shared breakfast, or coffee in Law's case, at the same table. Especially if the crossword gave Benn trouble.

"Go through. They've been drinking."

Law sent Bepo a gauging look.

"Gabby, not grumpy."

Law's mouth downturned.

"Sorry. I know that's you." Bepo's lips curved, even while he was apologising.

"Tchh." Law pushed back his hat and opened the door to the kitchen. Bepo took Kikoku.

Everyone was so caught up with the other they didn't notice him. That suited Law. He sat at a table to the side, Bepo opposite. Benn waved around his plastered finger, the man himself also obviously growing increasingly plastered.

"Where's everyone?"

There weren't too many of either crew. Shanks and Benn. Shachi, Ikkaku and Jean Bart of his own team, and - - "Where's Penguin?"

Bepo indicated the hotplates. Penguin stirred something bubbling away. The crew were all pretty good at cooking and all had their specialities. Next to him stood the Whitebeard first commander, his spiky hair tipping Penguin's way as he explained something. Law lifted an eyebrow.

"Trafalgar, have some of the good stuff!" Shanks yelled out, and called him over. Law rose – the room still really too occupied with drinking to notice him – sat down opposite the yonkou, and took the proffered cup of sake. He eyed the already empty bottles to the sides of the room. Bepo wandered over to Jean Bart, Kikoku in tow.

"What did you do with Benn's matches, Captain?" Ikkaku asked, eyes bright. Shachi was next to Law, Benn next to Shanks, and Ikkaku to Beckman's other side.

What was it with his crew and their lack of discretion?

Benn lit up and Shachi reached across and withdrew the cigarette. "Not _in_ the sub, man. Or we have a smoking room."

Law gave a small smile. That took some balls, but Shanks' crew was pretty easygoing, and the sub _was_ a hospital. The smoking room stank, and Law tended to avoid it.

"What is it with you Hearts, man?" Benn asked Shachi. Being deprived of his smoke for the second time that day was well on its way to being out of order. He turned his attention the captain's way. "You a Scout-leader, Law?"

Law just nodded. "We're not submerged. The deck's available." A much better place than inside the sub.

"Benn got his matches back," he said to Ikkaku.

"Though you stole a few." Benn chewed at his nail. What was he to do without a cigarette? He kept his haki in check. He was in a right mind to send a blast of it Trafalgar's way.

"Had to buy my way into one of Marco's poker games."

Shanks barked. The Whitebeard commander was notorious for playing safe when it came to gambling.

"Oi, yoi!" Marco yelled from the hotplates.

"What do I owe this honour to?" Law asked. He wanted it to be for the reasons Bepo stated. Not for a pick-me-up after Doflamingo's visit had left him feeling he'd been skewered and immersed in a crockpot of sludge. Not as a night of reassurance after having teetered along the precipice of not-quite-rightness the day previously.

"We like your booze, Law." Benn grinned. Revenge.

Law looked closely at the bottles, then at Shachi who shrugged. Yep, the bottles were from his supply.

"You're holding a party on my sub . .. "

"In your honour . . ."

"Using my booze?"

"Your generosity is one of the things we really like about you, Law." Benn threw an arm around Ikkaku's shoulders in lieu of the captain. Law shook his head and topped up everyone's glasses. If you couldn't beat 'em.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Law wasn't the only one eating, so pork, mushroom _and_ fish fillings, all to be rolled up in lettuce leaves before consumption, sat on every table. San choi bau. Pine nuts, ginger, water chestnuts, coriander, wonderful flavourings that the cooks could only take advantage of after one of the crews had come back from a supply run, were adjacent to each serving plate.

The fillings for the cabbage rolls were also varied. Penguin made sure Law received the halibut. That dish was simpler. A butter sauce, salt, pepper, some Italian parsley and capers. Each table was provided with a selection of plain onigiri. Law recognised Bepo's handiwork from their misshapen form, but that was the way he loved them. Bepo salted and vinegared them just so.

A smaller plate of umeboshi onigiri rested to the side, and near that, dolmades. That was new. Maybe the vine-leaf-wrapped rice was Marco's contribution.

Benn had gone to the deck for a smoke, and Shanks and Shachi arm wrestled down the end of the table. One redhead to another. One emperor and Law's crew. Law wished him luck. Marco slid into the seat beside the doc, wiping his neck with a towel. Some of the Heart crew were tackling dishes. It was a small relief there weren't any other Whitebeards present.

Law rolled up some of the fish mix in a lettuce leaf, added condiments and ate with love, sucking his fingers, and carelessly wiping the juices from his chin and goatee with a serviette. They couldn't always have this kind of food either. Lettuces wilted, and cabbages, though they had great staying power, didn't stay fresh forever.

"Good?" Marco asked, reaching for one of the fish ones for himself. They'd made enough to cater for all tastes. The doc wasn't the only one who like seafood.

Marco caught the unguarded flash of teeth Law had shown him two days prior.

"You cook?"

"Can do. You?"

"Yeah." Both of them had only themselves to rely on at various points of their lives, and Law was sure that Marco had to look after others in the same way he did. Specialisation, like knowing how to do surgery, or how to regenerate, was one thing, but it was useless without basic survival skills. Their powers had limits. Though this spread was a few levels beyond survival.

"Bepo helped me."

"He knows all my secrets."

"And Penguin."

"He knows even more."

Cora had never forced bread upon him. Nor pizza nor cake. Though he and the younger Don Quixote brother were not related, they both seemed to share a dislike of or reaction to foods made from wheat. He did try to make him eat umeboshi once. Law had never liked the sourness his tongue curled up against, so it was as well that he found nothing to dislike in cabbage and lettuce. They ate enough of it.

"They seem innocent – the cabbage, the lettuce. I'm sure Cora - - I tell you some about him?" Law's face was a query.

Marco leant in. "A little. The good brother, right?"

Law sucked back the flavour of the fish and garlic and nodded. "Yah, the good one. If there's any good in me, it's because of him."

His parents were originally responsible of course. He was a serious, blinkered kid, but not unkind. He'd lost the guidance they'd steered him with when the World Government gunned them down, and the rest of his town. Cora gave that back to him too. The compass of his parents' love. Reminded him that he could heal.

"He was part of the Family, so he wasn't innocent, and from what Doflamingo and Sengoku said, and from the hints Cora gave me, his childhood wasn't anything to write home about. Doflamingo killed and beheaded their father. Doffy was only ten, so Cora would have been eight. Cora said his father was a good man. He loved his mother."

Law rolled the next lettuce wrap a little more precisely. He used scan to gain access to the seasonings that were further down the table.

"Bepo told you they were his favourite foods, didn't he?"

Marco nodded.

His team was rooting for Marco? What was that about?

"The crew cooks my favourite foods on occasion. My favoured foods are a staple, naturally, as are theirs, within reason. But the extra touches tonight," Law glanced quickly at Marco, "Really nice."

Marco guessed that was a compliment.

Mouth full, Law looked at the Phoenix anew. "They're kinda sordid, the lettuce and the cabbage."

A skillet of halved pan-fried sprouts was on each table, mixed with garlic, croutons and seasoned with parmesan, butter and a touch of chili. A scattering of prawns curled up throughout, those that Bepo hadn't stolen in the preparation stages. Law picked at them.

He guessed this was all his food and booze, and that he was paying for both. He hoped everyone was enjoying this party held to honour his generosity. Lucky for his crew it was a great spread.

"I'm sure Cora liked them, because they have hearts. A cos lettuce heart char-grilled, the way a cabbage grows . . . and apart from his smoking, he was just kind of healthy. The hakusai cabbage survives the harshest environments.

"The ancients thought that lettuce was an aphrodisiac, though, and it _is_ good for fertility cycles and reproduction, for both men and women."

"Oh?" Marco gathered he'd done well. He picked at his incisors with one of the toothpicks on the table. Filled up both his and Law's glasses.

Law tipped the drink back. "The ancients have a story of a nephew and an uncle vying for the crown. Gods, of course. The uncle has strong parallels with Doffy. Long story short, and it's a bizarre story, the nephew wins the crown after it's proven that his uncle imbibed the nephew's semen. The reason that occurs is that it's been smeared on the lettuce leaves he habitually eats."

"I didn't do that."

"Good." Law's grin was sudden. He pulled at his earrings on one side, scrunched up his serviette and left it on the tablecloth.

"The nephew's actually the good guy. But it's a complicated story. I'll tell you some other time when it doesn't jigsaw quite so neatly with my own. When I've got a bit of distance."

"As you wish. How about the cabbage?" Marco had shaken out Law's napkin and was folding all the cloths around him.

"Medicinally, it's amazing. You can use it as a way to inhibit and possibly stop gangrene if you've pickled it into a sauerkraut or something similar and apply it as a poultice. Great for the sea. Probably whoever treated Jozu used something similar."

"Doesn't sound too lewd to me." C'mon doc, let's get onto the good stuff.

"It's not. But it's said that the cabbage originated from the tears of a king, and that king had just killed his son, tried to rape his mother, killed his wife and generally went loco. He mistook his son for a trunk of ivy. Pruned away his nose, ears, fingers and toes before killing him. When he realised what he'd done, he wept. From the tears that dropped to the ground the cabbage was born."

"You're right. It sounds like Doffy."

"Different megalomaniac, but no shit, eh? Apart from the mother thing, and the cabbages. And crying. At least I've never seen him cry."

Marco could listen to Law caught up in a story all night. Bepo and the rest of the crew cleared the tables, Penguin shooting him a few glances. Shanks enticed the gullible into some card game or the other. Ikkaku checked her watch. Smart girl.

"The king had a thing against the wine god and his worshippers. He drove the followers from the village with cattle prods. He'd somehow imprisoned the god. I guess they were a little more fallible in those days."

"But the god got his revenge."

"Yeah. See, vines were sacred to the god, so he cursed the king and drove him to madness, and had him slaughter his son because he thought he was a vine. It all ended by the villagers throwing the king to man-eating horses to lift the curse, because it also wiped out their crops, and sucked the water from the land. They were starving."

"There are man-eating horses?"

"Somewhere in ancient mythology." Law wondered where he'd placed his hat. Hopefully Bepo had it.

"Don't piss off the god of wine, eh?" Marco drew the dolmades near, and though it was a heavy taste on top of all the other sensations, he thought it fitting to eat one now.

"Who would want to?" Law grinned. "I think that king was crazy before the god drove him crazy."

"Is that why you like cabbage and lettuce?"

"What kind of sick fuck do you think I am?"

Marco shrugged.

"No. I knew nothing about it. I just read some of Nico Robin's books. I like them because he liked them. I draw the line at umeboshi. But he was right about that abomination, pizza, though each to their own."

"I'm glad you liked it." Marco gestured to the meal and patted his rounded belly. Who knew the Heart pirates could put on such a good show?

* * *

 **A/N** : This chapter originally ran to about 8000 words. I've got nothing against long chapters, but this story seems to be running from 1,500-4,000+ so I've broken it here.

Google yourself some cabbage and lettuce mythology if you think I'm making that up :-)

Oh, to get the lowdown on eau de ordurè, it's all explained in chapter 13 of Repossession. That's a Bepo chapter, so no warnings apply.

 **Thanks for reading**.


	18. Fish Alive - LawMarco, Red Force

**AN: Warnings** : Some slightly remembered Doffy badness sprinkled throughout - sexual assault - but _not_ explicitly dwelt upon.

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen – Once I Caught a Fish Alive - Red Force**

* * *

"I have Cora and aphrodisiac lettuce to thank for that?"

Law wiped Marco's sperm from the blond's abs with a cloth placed nearby earlier, and spilled it from his own palm into the material. He swept the fingers of the other hand up Marco's cock, across the tip and back down again, a reassuring cup to his balls, just for a second. The journey from the warmth of his mouth, to his lips, to hand, to nothing but air had to be gradual. Though he didn't want to get him fired up again either.

Law could take anything – Doflamingo had proven that – but he didn't like to. Who would?

Luffy was the best for getting him to voice what he was comfortable with, or not. The rubber boy tried to listen, to coax words. Just as well, or they would have self-destructed in a few stolen moments when need was driven and drove out all else.

"What do you want, Law?" Doflimango asked him, often, fingers curling along his neck, thumb pressing into his larynx. To be fucked and fucked over. That was the correct answer.

He'd gone further in a few days with the Phoenix than Luffy and he had managed in six months, and Marco probably had Luffy to thank for that. Especially for pirates, it wasn't that far.

"Don't go PTSD on me Law."

Law's hands were slack on Marco now, around his cock and holding the towel. On his knees, he looked down at the floor, not feeling the bed-throw under his arms, or the hardwood below him.

Marco took the towel and finished cleaning himself. _Bad slave_ , Law thought to himself as Marco then handed it back to him, but a slave wouldn't be able to ask Marco _not_ to come in his mouth. After lifting his hand from Marco with an almost unconscious tapering-off of fingers across the head of his subsiding erection, Law finished cleaning his palm, and dropped the cloth to the floor, his breath measured.

He looked up. Yeah, it wasn't the most comfortable of positions, despite having thrown another towel from the Phoenix's locker under his knees.

"Come here." Marco grabbed his boxers from the edge of the bed, pulled them on. Law still wore jeans. Marco felt underdressed. He patted the mattress.

"Take a drink." He indicated the glass of water they'd set up on the side-dresser before Law had gone down.

.

How lucky was he? Maybe there was something in Bepo's words. Something scarab-like to Law. His tawny-flecked lupine gaze had held his own while his lips had wrapped around him. But where was Law's pack? That crew on the sub?

Tips of blue hidden under strands of black hair, wild like the feathers of a tropical bird; the peaks and clefts of Law's shoulders and neck – all that between Marco's thighs, moving below him, for him, not open to touch yet. His steady, directed, honeyed, breath. He had a feeling orgasm would never be a problem if Law took care of business.

The Heart captain stood in one easy motion, and released a pedestrian groan as if having just mown the lawn. Stretched his arms over his head, leant backwards. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and sat on the edge of the bed, back to Marco, and took a sip of water. His eyes flitted to the side and located Kikoku against the table.

Marco knelt behind him, knees either side, the soft cloth of his boxers against him. He put his arms around the doctor, and kissed up his neck, behind his ear. Law patted behind him absently like a parent placating a child, somehow managing to land a hand against Marco's hair.

"Okay?"

Law nodded.

"Want me to do you?" Marco's hands were warm. Law's skin sparked as one reached the waistband of his jeans. He took a hold of it, knew his grip was probably too strong. Marco's hand fit well in his own.

"Not tonight."

Marco. In his mouth. _It had been Marco_. What was okay or not, they'd discussed it. Law had kept eye contact, as was his training, not only to turn the Phoenix on, but to watch carefully.

The sounds had been sweet. He'd never called him a whore, even in the past when Law had swallowed because the idea of it was the fastest way of getting the man off and getting out of his room. He didn't grab his hair, he didn't fuck him faster, he hadn't mouthfucked him until he puked.

Never in the past either, but he'd known less about Doflamingo and the marines then. Law could handle _not_ being explicit about what he needed if they hooked up only on occasion. If they really were something more serious, the rules had to be rewritten.

"Lie down?" Marco pressed his face against Law's back, then released his arms from around him, and lay on the bed, head on his elbow. He took in the swirl of half-heart tattoos on Law's shoulders, eye grazing across and down to Kizaru's fucked up gift; traced the narrowing of the muscles following the spine to the tailbone, just apparent above Law's loosened jeans. Huh. Must have needed some relief after all. Good. He wanted Law to get something out of it.

Law looked down at the loss of body warmth, then turned around. His shoes were discarded at the door. He brought his long legs up, and rested his frame along the bed, it was only a single, as were all the beds on ships, except perhaps Shanks and Benn's. _Doffy's_. Jozu and Jean Bart's bunks were singles relative to their size. He turned to the side so he mirrored Marco. The blond stretched across and pulled Law closer, both men replacing elbow support to rest their heads on their upper arms.

Law continued to search Marco's eyes, knowing this was the time to be kitten, tiger, controlling, needy, waiting for the order. He'd had enough years free to know what he could do for others. Play up to their kinks, their wants – less chance of those wants causing him pain.

He'd never done it with Penguin – his friend could see straight through him. Luffy just wouldn't have understood. Smoker and him? Whatever the holy fuck that was, neither of them understood. He was unadorned with Marco. As much as he could be. Undyed, unpainted – but tarnished. He'd always be tarnished.

Law's effort, the rum they'd drunk, the handful of fennel either one had taken to settle stomachs after that night's meal, intermingled in the breath between them. Adrenaline, a pinch of fear, a hint of aggression, rose from their skin.

"Doffy. You can thank Doffy for that."

Marco's gut dropped. He lifted Law's hair back from his forehead, leant over and dared to kiss his lips, Law pushing back into the mattress to accommodate him. Tentative at first, as if weighing up whether or not to part the goddamn Red Sea, Law's kiss was sweet, though he kept his tongue to himself. Marco withdrew.

"Doffy?"

Law's eyes showed that he wasn't sure. Was Doffy responsible for everything he knew? Anything he could give?

"You controlled it, Law. You were in control the whole time."

Marco scrabbled around and passed Law a pillow, put one under his own head. Law grunted thanks and rearranged himself, his hands now between them. Fists doubled up, the skin of one hand rested against his own chest, and touched Marco's on the other. Marco's arm was slack across Law's body. Casual ownership? Companionship?

"I'd like to think that was you," the Phoenix said. "Or at least Cora and lettuce."

He pulled the Heart pirate closer yet, and Law didn't pull away. His laugh was sharp.

"It's always me, Marco. That's the problem."

"Ah, no." Law had bent his head and Marco ran his fingers in his hair. "There's free will Law, and conditioned Law."

"Conditioned Law gives great blow jobs," the man murmured.

"Maybe."

"It wasn't good?"

"Beyond good."

Law smiled.

"But we could have stopped, if you didn't like it. If you changed your mind, as hard as that can be."

Yeah, you say that now, Law thought, but it sure beat having your mouth sewn open for the whims of Doflamingo and Vergo, the executives and officers. Fuck, even the delivery guy had used him once. He slowed his pulse.

"I know," he said. "We set the rules. You followed them. Thank you."

"You set the rules, Law. Maybe I'll have my own list when we get around to it, but why wouldn't I stop?"

"We never talked about them before."

"It isn't before." Law's fingers were pressing into his chest like a baby exploring spectrums of light. Marco breathed across his crown. "Will you stay the night? Just to sleep if that's what you want."

"Can you handle the pace?" Law raised his eyes.

"I've been without Ace six years."

"But you've found ways to relieve that absence, including me."

"Yeah, well I'm after something more permanent. Or willing to see where it goes. And it's not like you didn't get something out of before. It wasn't just me." He ran a thumb along Law's jawline, and he didn't fail to see both worry and hope in his face. "Does that make you happy, pirate?"

Law nodded and lifted his hand to Marco's hip, their chests flush.

"Marco?"

"Mmm."

"Doflamingo swamped me if I ever had to spend the night in his room. It was warm and encompassing, but could turn violent in a second, and there was no way to get away. No choice."

Marco's neck prickled. "Warm?"

Law glanced across at the tone. "Chains, concrete floor, Vergo's fists, Joker's, were the usual. It was a long imprisonment. I took what respite I could get." His face darkened, and Marco felt him tense.

"You enjoyed it?"

Law's whole being stiffened. He removed his hand from Marco's body, and though there wasn't much room for movement, there was more space between them than just before.

"Not for a second." Every word spat. "But not being hurt? Not being physically hurt? Being warm for a moment? It fucked with my head, but my body tricked itself. It felt safe for a heartbeat. At times Doflamingo actually just slept."

Joker had primed him. If Marco pulled away now...but why _wouldn't_ he? He stared at him.

"Okay." That dark-haired, dark-faced look was murderous. "It's okay, Law. What did you want to say?" He tried to close the space between them. He felt the Heart yield a little, his muscles relax a millimetre of a centimetre under his touch.

"I want to hold you, spoon you." Law's gaze dropped.

That was it? "I never get the chance?"

"Ah, no, you will. Once I hit even keel, I'm all for give and take, but it's all splintered wood at the moment."

"It's not, you know. You're doing fine." And the tenseness dissipated a little more. He loved the drumming of Law's pulse against his skin. He would get the chance?

"What if it's the most chaste relationship this side of the Red Line?" Law's fingers quietly explored his chest again.

"You don't miss Doffy?"

Completely rigid. Damn. He'd just got him back. Stupid question, _stupid question_. But Law had dropped being warm in that monster's goddamned fucking arms into their conversation. He let out a snarl, and Marco felt his fingers turn to bring his sword home to him, to teleport the fuck out of there.

The Phoenix clamped his hand over Law's own. Probably another offence. The man glared at him. "Stay, please. Stupid words. I'm not good with them. Chaste?" He felt Law's fingers flex under his. "Heh. Not likely. You're like a snow leopard under all that ink, purring away." _Real_ smooth, Marco. Not going well. But what kind of weirdo didn't like snow leopards?

Law bit out his frustration. Doflamingo pressing into him, the softness of the bed, his epiglottis closing off his airway. Too many emotions, feelings, reactions. The agate was a white blur in his mind. He tried to focus on its orange centre. In his pocket somewhere, difficult to get to, especially with Marco restraining his fingers.

"Stupid words," Marco whispered, he freed Law's hand and Law dug the gem from his pocket, held it tight in a balled up fist. Marco took note and placed his palm around it, trying to get Law's heart rate to match his own steady but anxious pulse. The doc slowly relaxed again, though obviously wary as fuck.

"I miss Teach sometimes. I mean, I hate his guts. There weren't many good things about him, but there were some. We both liked cherries. Can't stomach them now." He rubbed his thumb along the looser skin on the back of Law's hand.

"Not the same." Law's voice was terse. But there _were_ some things. Law fought rising bile. Like when he and Baby 5 were rescued from the pirate Wellington.

"No?" Marco ran his other hand along Law's lower back.

It had been such a small thing to ask for. Stupid to ask. Law swallowed.

"You don't know the pay-off for the kindness. You don't know when they'll collect. The price of collection." Was that what Marco was doing now?

"Once they've betrayed you?"

"Yeah." But he _had_ been betrayed by motives of kindness as well as of pain. _Don't question the reasons for a person's love_. How could you not? But - - Marco's hold was calm around his fist, and he closed his eyes for a beat at the lullaby his thumb pressed into his flesh. Paid attention to the Phoenix's breath. Maybe betrayal wasn't inevitable. His chest rose and fell with a similar cadence.

"It's a Largha seal, under the ink. Kind of slothful. Closer to Jimbei in stature than Lucci," Law murmured, returning to Marco's previous comment, an unsteady smile crossing his face. An attempt. The blond recognised it as a tiptoe forward.

Relief swept his body. "Hah. Well, it is one of the deadly sins." His arm dropped to Law's hip again and he brushed his fingers over the skin in circular patterns "We'll have to explore a few more." Law's eyes fluttered shut once more, opened again.

"Are you serious, Marco? About this?" Law gestured his hand between them in the cramped space allowed. "Don't want to waste your time."

Don't want to be your play thing. Don't want you to be jealous of my fucking abuser. Jailer. But the touch felt good. He had to admit.

"What do you want, Law?" Marco asked. For some reason, he felt the man next to him tense again, but calm just as quickly. Law dropped the stone into the small pouch he tied around his wrist, and Marco felt one finger, two, three, four, and five press into his skin.

Law spoke to Marco's front. "When we sat on the deck, while the Family was about, when you sat with me, back to back, and I could rest, I could sleep, Marco, I want that."

"Nothing more?"

Law's hand had been in his own. The unannounced arrival of Doflamingo and Vergo on the Red Force, after having had their sentences commutated, had spooked him into virtual incapacitation, though he'd been able to Shamble the two of them out of the conference room. They'd tried to railroad Shanks into handing the servant right back to his master.

When was that? Just a few days ago. Law had rested his back against Marco's own, and somehow fallen asleep in the sunshine with him while the Don Quixote two hobnobbed with the emperor, fleshing out lurid detail after detail about Law's past.

Law sighed. He wanted more. But to get more, you had to put in more. "I don't know if I can give it."

"You want it?"

"Eventually."

"I've been through a few regenerations. Some things are worth waiting for."

"Is that like when you burn yourself to ashes and reform?" Law had lost his words, his hand easy against Marco's tattoo now. He wondered if Marco was a phoenix from the east or the west, or elsewhere. They both had an affiliation with the sun, like dung beetles, so what did it matter?

"Did you read that in one of Robin's books?"

"Mmm."

"Something like that."

Marco kissed him on his indolent, slothful lips and was again rewarded with response, a quick flare to the eyes, a calmness to his face. When Marco pulled away, he turned so his back was to the Heart and Law snaked an arm under his own, which the Phoenix held to his chest. He noted that the pouch, Luffy's gift, was still tied around Law's wrist. He felt it in his own hand for a second.

"Walk me through this again some time soon?"

"Will do." Law planted a soft kiss on his freckled shoulders. That was a surprise.

"Your arm falls asleep, we separate, okay? No hard feelings."

"Of course." Law settled against him.

"You'll be uncomfortable in those jeans, yeah?"

Law exhaled. "Yeah." He sat up. "Thought I was the mood killer."

Marco's teeth flashed though Law didn't see. "What do you think happens when Killer's the mood killer?"

Law stood and pulled off his jeans. "The World Government could rename him Mood-Killer Killer."

"I wonder if that would work like a double negative. You know, like, here comes Kill-joy. And all the Kid crew would know he was sweetness and light."

Law laughed. He folded his clothes over a chair, straightening the shirt already hanging from its frame, keeping his boxers on. Dimming the light, he got back into bed, snuggled into Marco again, bringing the blanket over them.

"Sleep, Law."

"Aye-aye, Skip." But he examined the back of Marco's head instead, wondering about the particles and materials that made up the man. They might both have just enough in them to not trip over themselves too much along the way.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

In the morning there was a sharp rap on the door. He'd overslept. Usually he spent the morning with all the schemers and dreamers in the kitchen before they got on with their business. He tumbled out of bed, pulling on jeans over the boxers he'd gone to bed in, and was pulling up the zip and fumbling with the button as he opened the door, yawning.

"Interrupt something?" Marco stood there with coffee, one cup held out. Those jeans were really too much.

"Sleep." Law took the cup, mumbled thanks and shuffled over to the small table in the room. He left the door open, Marco taking it as an invitation. Yeah, Law's body might be snow leopard but his morning mind was all largha seal.

It took a few moments for the coffee to do its job. Marco had enough breakfasts of watching Law slowly wake up at the mess table after drinking it.

One sip, one gulp, one groan, rest of head on arms. One tousling of own hair, one lusty, huffy, gusty, done-with-it push of air. Law stood, wandered to the basin in the corner, pumped a little water into it, splashed his face, and wiped off with the nearby towel. Marco wondered where the agate pouch had got to. Towel pushed into his face, the Heart captain located a clean shirt in the locker, and shrugged it on, covering those tatts. Shame. He returned to the table and sat opposite Marco again.

"Thanks for the coffee." Law moved the finished cup to the centre of table, looked at his fingers, stretching his hands out as if just noticing he'd tattooed them. "You're here to say it's too much. To suggest going back to some casual every now and then thing, when I can get over myself."

Marco sniffed. He'd considered it, but hadn't they got past that last night? Maybe Law thought he'd dreamt it? It was true, he did have to get over himself.

"I'm here to say purple suits you."

"Huh?" Law looked up. When had their conversation taken on a sacred hue?

"You got so used running around bare-chested in Dressrosa you forgot your shirts have buttons?"

Law tapped the space under his nose. Was he still wearing his Dressrosa moustache? It felt like one of those kinds of days. And - - Yeah. He looked down. This shirt was not his own. He rubbed his hand over the heart tattoo like a boy who'd just had his fill of milk. Satisfied with his own good self. Buttons were overrated anyway, but - - he took in a shirt sleeve - - decidedly not his own. Nice though. He wondered how many Marco had. Was he up to being pillaged? Ransacked? Looted? Raided?

"You slept like a baby, pirate."

Law lifted up either side of the jacket and studied the lining. Cream. His lips pressed together as he nodded in approval. A good contrast to the magenta. Colours, herbs, flowers, bones, muscles, viruses, genomes, nucleotides – he could name them all. Or most of them. It was handy being a doctor. He made shit up and only Chopper questioned him.

"Don't you get cold running around like this?" Law flapped one of the sides in Marco's general direction.

"Haven't heard you complain."

Law smiled. He'd slept like a baby? And where the fuck was his shirt? He looked around. Trapped behind Marco's back, hanging off his chair.

"Pass it over, would you? Behind you."

Marco reached to his back and - - was his mind playing tricks? Law held his shirt between them for a second longer than he needed to.

"Guess I must like you, huh?" He slipped Marco's shirt off, and pulled his own over his head, straightening the collar, confirming it had buttons. He folded the purple jacket and rested it on a clear and clean surface of the table.

"Guess you must." The Phoenix's hand, thumb running along his chin, hid his grin. "Do you even know whose room you're in?"

Wolf. Leopard. Largha. Sheepish. Law kinda wished he had his moustache to hide behind. Maybe he should try falling asleep with someone in his arms more often.

"Cora." Law interlaced his fingers, and propped his chin on them. A wolf-in-sheepish clothing-smile illuminating everything.

Marco kept his laughter to himself. Could those amber flecks drunkenly pogo? Wait, a _wool_ f in Phoenix clothing. Pirates fleeced all they ran across right? Well, the Phoenix was an amalgam, it made sense that anyone who donned its feathers could shift shapes.

"Thank Cora for this." Law waved a grand hand down his Heart-clothed body. Spies were masters of disguise. "Lettuce had nothing to with it."

* * *

 **AN** : Okay . . . Law and Marco probably manage to have the most unsexy-sex possible (all off screen). But _wait_! There is/was character exposition. I hope . . .

I reread the last part (section), and was being a little silly in it. I'm not sure if it comes through, or is just confusing. **Thank you** for reading. A shout out to the United Nations of readers who click on the link.

These last three chapters belong together, so I've uploaded them fairly close to one another.


	19. Sengoku's Hat- Robin,Law,Marco isle time

**Chapter nineteen - Why Bleat ate Sengoku's hat**

* * *

Penguin favoured pom-poms, jaunty red spiders having their stomach's tickled. That is until he spied the hat with a penguin. No-one could forget his name if he wore that, unless someone else wore it of course. Then Shachi just had to copy him and get an orca hat. Camel, Kuzan's friend, the actual giant penguin, not a human pretending to be a flightless bird, favoured bomber-pilot flaps, circa 1914, _ala_ the Red Baron. Or was that Kuzan? Either way, both were hardcore in their own way. Seagulls – scavengers of the sea – Sengoku chose to wear a seagull. Marines were on the water, and waterbirds were on the water, Bleat got it, she understood, but. . . Well, she wasn't much better. Goats ate everything. That's the reason Bleat chewed up Sengoku's hat. He'd left it lying around.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Marco looked at Law sleeping on the couch with the Strawhat archeologist. If it wasn't Luffy, it was Robin. Law's stance was usually protective or, conversely, vexed with Luffy and something so very relaxed with Robin. Luffy was usually wound around the Heart captain five or six times, and he either had to be in the mood or just hadn't been able to get away.

Neither Penguin nor Smoker needed Law to be in such close proximity for extended periods of time, and Marco understood that a little more. And Law didn't need it from them. He loved the lack of tension on his partner's face now, though. The Strawhat cook would definitely _not_ be so relaxed and un-invested if Robin were that close to him. But the two slept like sun-kissed Doberman pups, as connected and seamless as the grain of a tree and the bark that ran along its branches, Law's arms around Robin, her face nestled into the crook of his neck. _This_ was Law in his natural state.

Who did Marco have? The crew would have his back at any stage but to sleep body to body? Breath to breath? Though Robin _had_ tied Law down with her fruit ability, and sleep was a by-product.

Of course in times of war and battle, on the sea, it was inevitable that Marco wouldn't always inhabit only his own space. But in times of peace, probably only extreme circumstances would result in a Whitebeard who wasn't Ace holding him close. Falling asleep on shoulders, hugs for greetings, even sharing a bed if that was all that was available, he could do all that. But to have them hold him, or vice versa, as both slept - it just wasn't their thing.

Law craved touch of a certain kind as much as he abhorred contact of another. It was hard-won, this knowledge. The people who knew regarded it as a gift, and mostly understood that there were times that Law also needed to maintain boundaries that blocked them out. Not now though. Whoever had said these two were light sleepers?

Marco was pretty good friends with Zoro now, and even then he couldn't envisage either of them bunking down, except as a way of stemming heat loss if they were ever in that kind of situation.

He could sleep with Law like this. He'd seen that expression on Law's face as he slept with him. He'd seen the stark opposite too, and Marco's own contentment settled when Law appeared at peace.

Then there was Bepo. Well, who wouldn't enjoy leaning against Bepo if he allowed you? Few people were ever given the chance, but Marco had been with Law for years now, and had enjoyed the hospitality and comfort of his welcoming fur on a few occasions.

.

He wandered out to the balcony where Zoro and Franky sat.

"Super sunset, bro."

Marco nodded.

"Are the kids out for the count?"

"Yeah."

Zoro, sitting on the other side of the table to Franky, took a pull of his beer. "Why're they so tired? It's not like either of them is partnered with Luffy." He envied Law's relationship with Marco at times. It was said the man was calmer than himself, though not so likely to have the world change course on him as often as happened to Zoro. There were times when he could do with still waters, though he wouldn't give up the excitement of Luffy's orbit.

"Oh, you know Law. Sleeping's not his strong suit, and I think Robin persuaded him to rest."

Marco took a seat. Zoro passed across his bottle, and he took a sip before returning it.

"Tied him up?" Franky's knowing grin split his face. He drank tea from a mug.

"Tied him down more like it." Marco thought of the extra hands Robin sprouted to get herself comfortable while lying on the couch with Law. "Though to be fair, they were both reading one of her books, and he was turning the pages too quickly for her. He told her to at least contemplate taking a speed reading course if they were going to study together in the future."

"Owee. I thought Torao had outgrown his suicidal phase," Franky laughed. He kicked his feet up on the balcony railing and tipped his head back. "Maybe he wanted to be tied down, right? Those two are pretty freaky together."

Marco laughed, and flipped the lid to his own beer.

"Perhaps. He's not keen on restraints."

"TMI," Zoro murmured.

Franky stared at him as if he'd just grown an extra head. "C'mon, man. It's Robin we're talking about."

Ah, the ale was good going down. One brewed by a small crew on the island. "True," Marco ceded. "He's pretty patient when she uses her devil's fruit, anyway."

"Told you!" Franky yelled, Zoro wincing at the volume.

"Anyway. I think he grew tired, bored maybe, of waiting for Robin to turn the page. Or maybe she started reading it out loud."

"Yeah. Robin reciting the artefacts and customs of some obscure region can be pretty mellow."

Marco and Franky looked at Zoro in surprise. He returned their glance with an indifferent stare. "What? Sometimes she likes to read out loud, and I like to sleep. Can't sleep when that witch is screeching. Robin's words? That's another thing."

All three nodded. It was like Sanji telling them all what was for dinner that night. The recital was almost as good as the food, except if you were Luffy, who would have already run off to ransack the supplies while everyone else was enraptured.

"Law couldn't keep his eyes open. Guess his body thought he'd make the best of a bad situation."

"Law's that much into men?" Franky asked. "Somehow I don't think it was too difficult for him."

"Jealous, Phoenix?" Zoro's scarred, closed eye sometimes seemed to judge far more than the open clear one.

"You?" returned Marco, thinking of all the times either one of them had come across Luffy using Law as a pillow. Sometimes both captains sleeping, at other times Law reading, researching, or otherwise engaged while Luffy invaded every particle of air and skin around him.

"Nah." Zoro wasn't. Law was with the Phoenix and Luffy was with him. Nothing to be jealous of.

Marco turned his head from Zoro, and stared at the shimmering line of ocean in the distance. "So Robin decided to nap too, and there you have it."

"Lucky bastard." Franky brought his mug over the table and almost broke Marco's beer bottle with the force behind it when he clinked them together.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Penguin on occasion - everyone on occasion - had come to see Sengoku with Law, or been with Law when Sengoku visited. Except Nico Robin, perhaps. That was the only time that Robin and Law were less like puppies from the same litter who didn't even know how to define loyalty because it was something they did, not something they thought about, and were more like members of your average, dysfunctional, fucked-up-by-the-World Government family - keeping a firm and detached distance from one another.

They were never antagonistic, but they could be cool.

Marco and Law's dwelling was like a half-way house. In fact, Law operated it that way sometimes. For someone who was so private, he sheltered a lot of strays. He could easily build walls around himself, but brick and mortar was permeable to those in pain and trouble, or just wanting to drop in for a beer.

He had no issue with Marco trailing a few wayward strangers along with him either, so long as he used his judgement, and they both did. Shapeshifters, good and bad, abounded, but most of Law's enemies were long gone, Marco's also defeated.

Enemies to friends to lovers - they'd both seen it happen more than once. The world was a strange place.

One evening, Nico Robin sat under the trees where they'd rested their first two rescue mutts, Misery and Mephistopheles, in the past. Cloths flapped over the lilies that flowered over the dogs graves, peaceful to the eye. Very faded now. Robin smiled at the streaked umber scarf she'd bought Law to remember their oldest familiar by. He should have worn it, but he had put it to the right purpose of marking her grave; of both waving goodbye and beckoning welcome home.

Marco walked over to the bench, the trees shading it from the tropical sun. The Whitebeard and Strawhat were friends, but she was Law's soulmate, that much was obvious. Except when he spoke to Sengoku. Then she became Marco's bosom buddy.

"Robin."

"Marco." She glanced up, pushed back a strand of her hair. "Still handsome after all these years."

Marco sat. "True beauty never fades," he smiled.

She gestured at the ten or so colours flapping across the yard. "I love the cloths."

The three of them had buried Misery together, Marco unable to express his grief, blocking Law and Nico Robin out as they put the oldest dog in the ground. But the period of silence had passed. They'd buried her in this area because it was the most peaceful section of the yard and, across the years, in her honour, its beauty had grown with Law's and his own plantings and decorations.

Marco could get into these plain coloured cloths that flapped like Tibetan prayer flags. He sat out here before heading to the village for his shift, and he often found Law on the bench enjoying the quiet.

The tranquility of that particular section of garden was very different from his lover's celebration of gaudiness inside with the commemorative tea-towels. With its development, the couple, rather than just Law, became the easiest to buy for. The cloths were outside so they wore quickly, and a yearly replacement of a certain colour signifying whatever its purchaser wanted it to was often the preferred gift for Marco, and sometimes Law. It supported their shared experience either way.

"Why aren't you with our favourite brat?"

"Your partner?" Robin looked over at Marco.

The blond nodded.

Robin lifted her shoulders and let them drop. "You?"

Marco ran his palm up his brow. "I can't always forgive his favourite grandfather."

Robin nodded. "Even though he killed Law's parents too."

"Have you ever asked?" He looked directly at her.

Robin shook her head. "Have you?"

"He brings it up sometimes." Law knew it was difficult. He didn't seek out Sengoku without being aware of Marco's distress, though the discomfort didn't consume him. "But without Cora, Law just wouldn't be here, and without Sengoku, Cora probably wouldn't have survived." He scuffed the dirt, dust rising and settling on his toes.

"I've got Luffy, I've got the crew - people who knew Ace. Who knew Cora? Apart from the Don Quixote bastards?" Marco's lip curled. "All gone now, anyway."

Robin leant down and pulled at some grass by the bench leg. "He did a good job with that."

Marco nodded. Law had lived up to his reputation when he rid the earth of the executives after the demise of Doflamingo and Vergo. Whether it matched or eclipsed the torture wrought upon him was another matter.

"Sengoku did the right thing after Marineford." Marco leant back on his arms, remembering Shanks taking the two precious Whitebeard bodies, the then fleet-admiral not holding on to marine propriety. But he'd also been the catalyst for snuffing out their life.

"Just not before." Robin sprouted as many hands as needed to re-peg a few of the makeshift prayer flags hanging loosely from the rope they were suspended from.

"Aokiji?"

"Yeah, I know." She called in her ability, and the towels followed the curve of the wind. "They try to kill you with one hand, and save you with the other. Marines are all kinds of fucked-up mixed messages."

"Well, you could do the same with many hands."

"I could. Kill, with one hand, torture with another, free with yet the other. It's a shame I wasn't at Marineford."

"It was a vicious battle."

Robin stared out at the small grove, and remembered the older dog, when she was healthy, sniffing around the yard. She was Law's shadow 80% of the time. She recalled the walks the four or three of them would take to the local park.

"If Law can forgive him . . ."

"He doesn't forgive."

"Let go of the pain."

"Yes."

"Then maybe . . ."

"When the time is right."

". . . maybe I .. "

"we . . ."

"can too."

And that was the only time that Marco felt closer to Nico Robin than Law possibly did, and closer to her than he possibly did to Law. They physically kept apart, because they didn't have _that_ kind of thing together, but at least he knew there were a few other non-Whitebeard pirates out there who'd have his back - push come to shove.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you** for reading. I'd love to know your thoughts. A quieter chapter where our pirate has most of his shit together. This was more of an interlude chapter. A chapter reflecting Law's island life, but still past to hanging out on the mountain with Sengoku.

For those who don't know, but want to know, more about Mercury, et. al, _A Rascal, A Rogue, A Scamp_ is the story for you, and it has links to others detailing rescue doggie relationships and loyalty.

Law's revenge on the executives is told in Chapter 19 of _Repossession._


	20. Bough breaks - Mountain Time (present)

**AN:** **Warnings:** Past sexual assault lightly referenced. _**Not**_ an explicit part of the chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter twenty - When the bough breaks, the Cradle will Fall (present - mountain time)**

* * *

Aokiji could sleep anywhere. Lazy justice. Although both he and Law had a fondness for wandering, Law had curbed the instinct over the years. Living on an island meant he resided on land that didn't really belong to any other. The ocean was always there, even if he was a long way from one at present.

Sengoku had two futons, and Law could sleep with his own crew at a squeeze (apart from certain members), and had been known to rest exhausted with the Strawhats, and was not always averse to sharing a bit of space with Shanks or Benn, but he wasn't going to lie down with two ex-admirals.

Taking the clean blankets Sengoku offered, he settled with Bleat for the night, scanning and scouring her corner of the room for fleas and excess dirt – and dealing with them if he came across them. He rested against the wall, stretching out his long legs.

The goat had pushed through the door ahead of him as they'd returned from the crisp night after Marco hung up. She'd curled onto her blankets, and looked up, surprised, as Law sat near her soon after. But then, as she had outside, she leant against him, her head in his lap, eyes closing.

"I'll keep watch," Law said, knowing there was little need for it now.

"It's warmer over there anyway," Sengoku grumbled. "I'll keep watch of your sword."

"Turn on some Buddha love and the fire within will melt any ice." Aokiji was smoothing the top cover of the futon.

The two admirals exchanged a look. It was true.

Aokiji glanced over at the man Roci had given up his life for. The kid seemed okay, even if charred inside and out.

"He's a D," Sengoku had said. A lot tougher than he looks. Like Saul. Ds saw things clearly, whether good or bad. Wrong actions were wrong to them, whether endorsed by the government, or by Joker.

"I'm an early riser." Aokiji's muffled words rose behind a very comfy futon. Both protectors bore a flower design last popular thirty years ago. "You can sleep here in the morning if needed."

Law nodded. "I'm not happy with you keeping my nodachi." He flexed his hand practicing the "Room" action, but bringing nothing to light, not intending to. Like playing the scales, practice made perfect.

"We're not going to sleep when you've got it nearby," Sengoku grumped. "Period."

"Tcch." Law brought a blanket up to his chin. He'd be chasing sleep without Kikoku next to him.

 **oOOo**

Marco's eyes flew open and he scrabbled across the bed for the lapis in the bedside drawer, the sheet half draped over his body, scrunching along with him. Mercury barked, startled, from her blankets at the base of the bed. The mattress was damn wide without Law. The Lapis was on Marco's side, but he spreadeagled when sleeping alone.

Marco and Law had worked through imagery rehearsal therapy together, intensely after Marco's assault of Law, as a ways and means of salvaging their relationship and, Goddamn it, if Marco didn't taste Law's nightmares now; though he also knew many of the keys, the ways, the tricks to changing and owning the narrative.

Something was wrong.

He picked up the Den-Den New World.

 **oOOo**

What was Dellinger doing in the hut? The light from the moon spilt through the rough windows and the clack of those heels would wake anyone, but there he was bending over a very still Aokiji. Blond head turned Law's way, sharpened teeth all red, Aokiji's neck a mess, his larynx ripped from his throat, Dellinger smiled at him. Aokiji was usually dead to the world, but now he really _was_ dead to the world.

Doflamingo's real underling giggled and placed a heart trump, the Ace of Hearts, over the ex-admiral's blood-soaked chest.

"They'll wonder why you didn't do anything, onii chan – why didn't you?" Dellinger waved something at him. His own leg? His own foot? "You think I can't see you over there? Banished to sleeping with the farm animals again? The grunting, snuffling, dirty pigsty, Law, I'll always check there first for you. Though it's sometimes difficult to spot the difference." He pushed a long nailed finger on the snub of his nose and oinked, a smear of red left on the bridge.

He then squatted, Law's leg tucked under his arm, and ran his hand along the gaping hole in Aokiji's throat and lifted his wrist to his face, slowly licking his pointer, middle and ring fingers, face turned to his brother.

"Delish." He sighed contentedly. He rose and circled the body. "They'll think you did it. That he sliced off your leg with Kikoku in defence. Froze it off, perhaps. Are you cold, onii-chan? You've always been so cold-blooded."

Law looked over trying to figure out what he was seeing. Attempted to sit up, scramble up. Pain shot through him. But was it a concept? Could he feel it? Or just thought he should? He _was_ cold.

"Kick a man while he's down, would you Law?" Dellinger booted the very immobile Aokiji with Law's severed leg, globules of fat and stringy muscle spilling from the top.

Law paled staring where his leg should be, and yeah, some jagged kind of incision of the fret saw string variety. Not Kikoku then. She was a clean cut, always, unless Law used her otherwise. Where was the bastard? Where was he hiding? What was left of his thigh was like the frayed denim of the shortest pair of shorts, strands dyed pink.

Sengoku stormed over from the kitchen area. And Law shakily turned his head that way. What had the Buddha been doing? Just hanging out in the shadows? Law looked up at him. So slow, everything was so slow. The dark. Was it encroaching his eyes, or the hut itself? Blood loss? Law could see it in Sengoku's face – he'd fucked something up.

"How _could_ you?" Sengoku flicked his forehead. "Shit eating scum." Law started shaking. Bad, he was bad. What punishment did he deserve? Was losing a leg enough? Sengoku reached behind Law who sat tight with confusion and pain. The ex-admiral pulled out Bleat's innards - her long long long long intestine, her pancreas, liver and kidneys, and draped them over Law, arranged them around his head and shoulders like a mantilla. Hadn't he read a book about sweetmeats and saints once? He never wanted to wear an animal's insides, and he was far from a saint. Had no desire to experience an ablution of Bleat's vital organs. He absently brushed fatty tissue and fibre away from his eyes.

Dellinger giggled in the dark spaces of the hut – just as he had throughout the fucking laughing clown hijinks – Law not being able to see or feel anything but Vergo's body and his own panicked air-grabby, throat-throttled attempts to just survive. But Dellinger's high-pitched excitement climbing the rungs of ecstasy at Law's reduction to a human glory hole had cut through it all. Law lifted a bloody hand to his mouth to check it wasn't sewn open and Sengoku slapped his hand away pushing Bleat's heart into his palm.

"You're always so funny, onii-chan." Dellinger was sweeping the floor of the hut with his leg now. "Such an idiot."

Bleat's heart wasn't beating. The darker colour of the animal dripped through his fingers. The extraction hadn't been done with the benefit of his Room. He looked at Sengoku. He'd done this? Why couldn't Law make any noise? He felt his tongue with the hand not holding the goat's heart, also bloodied somehow. Still there. He'd hurt Bleat?

"What was it? A sacrifice to the devil or something? What did she ever do to you?"

Sengoku was bawling, shoulders folded wing-tight. Hiccoughing. In more pain than when they'd spoken at Dressrosa. He'd done what? Law looked down at the heart, tattooed fingers curved around it. He'd killed Cora's childhood friend? They were right. He was a monster.

 **oOOo**

"Yeah, he's having some trouble Marco, but it's all internal. He's safe."

Marco thanked Viola. She ran a _Messenger to the Gods_ service, among other otherworldly things. Law often joked she should start up a _Messenger to the Dogs_ service, and they'd visit whenever they missed Misery or Mephistopheles. Considering the reciprocal worship either creature had of the other, Marco wondered if the first title actually wasn't the more apt.

"Do you want to try to reach him?"

The Phoenix pushed across the basalt he'd brought home to remember Ace by, and the lapis lazuli grounding stone.

 **oOOo**

Dellinger walked into the hut, Law's leg tucked under his arm like a clutch bag.

 _The fuck?_

Law felt in his pockets for the agate. When he shoved his hand into the left pocket he baulked at the lack of resistance from not feeling a leg, from not feeling the expected body mass slowing down his search. He hoped Bleat hadn't somehow swallowed the gem but then she was disembowelled, right? Or was that him?

He ran his hands over his stomach pressing in. All intact. Something screwy going on. The basalt. Marco's basalt. His fingers came across that first, and it was warm as if just fallen off the lava truck. Okay, not that warm. Maybe it had fallen off the back of the Volcano Express some time ago. Warm enough to generate some heat but to not give third-degree burns.

The third-degree. That's what he had to do now. What was going on? He put the basalt to his ear and opened his mouth to ask.

"You've got this kid."

"Marco?"

Was Aokiji a bloody corpse on the floor? What had Dellinger done with his leg?

"They got you in seastone, Law?"

"Zoro?"

He looked down at his wrists, his one foot, ran gunky fingers over his ear. No seastone. Their voices were tinny, the crossed wires of CB radio.

He called his sword to him. She flew across the room. He had control of this. His hands were clean. Bleat was clean and whole and nuzzled beside him. He turned his sights on Dellinger then back to his nodachi. Kikoku had no blood on her. That bastard was here somewhere then. Kikoku hadn't severed his leg, nor eviscerated Bleat. Maybe Law hadn't killed anyone.

"Takt." He had a room up, so his limb was safe. He upended it over Dellinger so the half-fishman wore some of that good internal stuff that kept the body pumping. The stuff that made any rational person recoil as all that should be inside spilled out. He gave it a good shake from the sole of the boot so that the blood that was settled down by his ankle, his toes, his foot, covered the half-fishman. The fucker started to eat it, giggling like the lightning-frazzled maniac he was, shovelling everything into his mouth, grinding Law's adductors with his pointed teeth. Jesus. Law was the sane one of that fucking family. Believe it or not. And this was Dellinger's human side.

"You got this."

Just change a few things and he'd have it.

He flicked his fingers upwards, across. The leg smacked Dellinger in the face, then the crotch, sending him sprawling, an irate mark across his skin. Law didn't feel the movements in some phantom kind of empathy. He had this. His adductors were whole and compact, his blood not quite flowing, but not pooled in some plantar dwelling swamp.

He called Kikoku to him. Some drag there. But hadn't he called her already? Law glanced to the side. Not there. Who had her?

He tipped his face upwards. Aokiji held the nodachi in his icy cold grip. At least he was whole again. Not a touch of blood upon him. Law would just have to use what was at hand. Which was his amputated leg. Luckily he'd swapped out his island sandals for those hobnailed boots when he climbed the mountain.

Yeah. Hobnailed pogo-punking boots.

Those hobnailed . . . when had he started wear . . . hob . .? . Hobnailed boots! Perfect for mashed potatoes. Dellinger didn't stand a chance, though he went down laughing. Tittering as if it was most amusing that Law smashed his head open with his own leg. Law had two den-den mushi circled on his ears so he couldn't hear the words the brat vomited as he collapsed, all about Vergo, that cell.

Law breathed out and looked down at Bleat nibbling at his shirt and Aokiji fitting his leg right back into his trunk – look how magically the material just reached out and wove the thread together – maybe Leo was around. Law rested a hand on the ex-marine's shoulder for balance and to make sure Aokiji lined everything up right. Had Law ever thanked Leo for sewing on his arm? He'd not been conscious at the time.

Sengoku. Where was the old man?

Making coffee in the kitchen.

A knock on the door, Law turned his head, and Kizaru stood there with a freaking chess set under his arm, the sun streaming behind him. Well, it beat an amputated leg — but Ki-za-fucking-ru. Tie me kangaroos, down mate. More likely to be Law compromised if that bastard was paying a visit. Law lifted his leg, bent it. All well, all good. He congratulated his system on recognising its own flesh and blood.

A knock on the door and Aokiji took leave of Law to answer, giving the pirate's shoulder a squeeze as he stood. The Heart captain shivered at the Antarctic squall. The door swung wide. Kizaru with a fucking chess set under his arm.

"Have you heard of our Lord and Saviour, the Great Mountain Goat, Bleat?"

"Not today, thanks, we have our own false idol to ogle," Aokiji yawned.

Bleat protested quietly on Law's lap. She wasn't a mountain goat, but she didn't want Kizaru to hear.

"Ah, c'mon, Kuzan. The only saviour is the World Government. The Gorosei. Akainu."

"That's three, not one, and not today, thank you." Aokiji closed the door in his face.

"A holy trinity, then." Kizaru's muted words seeped ithrough the closed door. Aokiji shook his head. Akainu. Really.

"Now Trafalgar, about that leg," Aokiji wandered over, and Law looked down to make sure it was still attached.

A knock on the door. Kizaru stood with a chess set under his arm.

"Ah, the clean-up team," Sengoku said from the kitchen and pointed at the bludgeoned Dellinger lying on the floor. Kizaru apologised for not wearing his scrubs.

"Ping, ping, _ping_ , ping."

"I think you mean, pew, pew, _pew_ , pew," Aokiji said. He sat down next to the Heart.

"Bam, Bam BAM, bam." Sengoku in the kitchen, hitting teaspoons against the cups at each point.

"Bang, bang- _bang_ , BANG!"

Kizaru looked pointedly at Law with the last, and Law didn't know if the man was double entendre fucking him or not. The doctor didn't stop the sneer from crawling along his features.

Either way, after Kizaru's light show, all that remained of Dellinger was a pair of scorched high heels. Where was that other bastard? A feather fell from the ceiling - - the rafters? Did Sengoku's hut have rafters?

Law's skin stretched and swarmed up and over his ears, his lips, his eyes in a cocoon of paralysis? The wasp was in the house. Kizaru? Law was the host? Ah, god. Imagine a colony of Kizaru faces bursting from his chest after feeding on his insides to ready the ex-admiral's larvae to pupate. He'd chew on something toxic to clear the greater poison from his system, to self-medicate before he gave birth to his enemy. Chopper might be able to help him.

Law teleported himself and Bleat out of the hut. The sun was up, that was good, but it was cold. "Boy, am I glad to see you," he said to his blond lover, sitting on one of the rock outcrops, the salmon-barked trees twisting smoothly behind him.

"You cold?" the Phoenix asked him.

"A little," Law said.

Marco pulled him to him for a second, and it was warm. "You got this kid. You've trained for it. You've got it."

 **oOOo**

Dellinger ran through the hut with Kizaru's yapping torso, and the light man tried to entice the boy to a game of chess. "I'll play with one hand tied behind my back. Trafalgar's too scared to play with me. Knows I'd wipe the board with his sorry arse."

Law doubled over. The fucker. Did someone have his heart? No, but he had Kizaru's. There, ready in his hand. He gave it a squeeze, and the who-knows-what-the-fuck-the-marines-called-him-nowadays ex-admiral grunted. Grunted. As if he'd stubbed his toe. "The door's that way." Law panted. Kizaru hadn't laid a finger on him. He pointed to the only way in and out of the hut. "Piss off." And they did. Law held the agate.

 **xxx**

Aokiji was over him. _Not good, not good, not good_. He grasped his hand, not the one in his pocket, and wouldn't let him form a room, but no seastone.

"The futon's yours, pirate, if you want it. Open your eyes now. Nice and slow."

So noisy. Remind him to never visit Sengoku again if Trafalgar was in the neighbourhood.

"Marco says to tell him where he is, who you are and what you're doing." Sengoku spooned instant coffee into a few cups.

"I can't say I'm your friend, Law - but I'm not here to hurt you. You're fucking loud though. You interrupted my beauty sleep. God knows, at my age I need it."

"Tell him your name."

Squatting, Aokiji glanced up at the older man in the kitchen, before turning again to the pirate in front of him. Law's hand exited his pocket. Plucked at the cloth of his trousers. Searching for something. The admiral kept the one he'd seen Law use the most with his Devil's fruit enfolded.

"Aokiji. Ex-marine. Iceman. Chill, baby before I chill you for you."

He seemed pretty cold already. Cold and sweaty. Was that a thing?

"Marco says that won't help."

 _Arararara_. Aokiji stood up and walked away from the still asleep Law, the quack's face still tight and his breath short. The pheasant didn't feel like taking orders from outlaws.

"Should we restrain him? We don't want him to decapitate us."

Sengoku murmured into the portable transponder.

"Marco says not in any circumstance are we to restrain him." He tipped his ear to the phone again. "But keep his sword away from him."

"When did we become babysitters to pirates?"

Sengoku shrugged. "Let's take our coffee outside. The Phoenix says Law'll come out of it soon enough. Bring the blade."

"Okay, but she bites. Luckily I can freeze the burn." Aokiji carried the nodachi with him, and adjusted his grip so that he held it loosely. "Who do you think's responsible for the darker paths of their minds?"

"Renegades? All paths are dark, aren't they?" Sengoku pushed he door open. Bleat remained asleep near the fitful Law. "Fucked-up minds lead to fucked-up paths?"

"He won't hurt Bleat, will he?"

Sengoku placed the pots and cups on the oil tins and, with a worried frown, called Marco.

"He adamantly says no."

He placed the snail back in his pocket, and sat on the bench outside the hut, Aokiji next to him.

"Are they all dark? There's Nico Robin, then there's Blackbeard. Roci saw something in Law, and you must too, or he wouldn't be in your hut." The Pheasant took a sip of the coffee.

"Genetic disposition," said Sengoku, pushing his glasses up his face. "Just something corrupted in their DNA. Could be that nightmares are an internal form of divine retribution, right? A delayed conscience kicking in?"

Aokiji thought of Saul, dead under his own hand. "An Unknown Known? The conscience they get to have without having a conscience? Whatever you say, Buddha. You're the one who should know."

 **oOOo**

Bepo sure had got whiskery, and why was he giving him a Mink greeting in Sengoku's hut? Law twitched his head to the side, away from the fur.

 _Meh-eh-eh-eh._

Oh, that other white-haired creature. Eyes still closed, Law patted a clumsy hand to his head. No hat. She better not have eaten his hat. When did he last see it? On Kizaru's head in a net shopping bag, toted around by Dellinger. Laughing. What was it with villains and their penchant for hilarity at the expense of others? Though, it was Kizaru who had lost his body that round. He'd found that hilarious too.

Groggy. Law smacked his lips together a few times - a goldfish chasing flakes of food - and let out an exhalation that woke him. His hand dove into his pocket and he scanned his limbs. Plural. Good. The basalt was warm. Strange. The agate cool in contrast. He patted the other pocket and pulled out the mobile Den-Den, the constant mucous bubble indicating battery life was damn low. He'd leave it free to chomp on some grass to recharge as soon as he got up. There was just enough power for now.

 **oOOo**

Marco picked up. Luckily he kind of knew and recognised Law's breathing patterns and this was the barely-awake-just-having-got-away-from-a-nightmare kind of lack of coherence. Not jerky, not pitter-patter, not staggered gasps for air. Just – a sleepy, musky, not necessarily cognisant Law.

"Hey."

Law tapped a finger on the snail's shell, and Marco understood that was as woken up as his communication skills were at the moment. His eyes would be fully closed or half-lidded.

"You did well, Law. You okay?"

He tapped twice. Couldn't remember Cora's code.

"Kikoku?"

Law looked around. Sleepy. He let the rammed earth floor of Sengoku's hut cool under his toes.

"Not here." His tongue moved like the stiffest and starchiest of unwashed socks.

"Good. You haven't killed them then."

Law let out a low laugh. As if he could bring down those two, but he'd be happier if she was near.

"I didn't kill Bleat, Marco." Law's fingers petted her neck.

"I know, babe. You wouldn't. Did you redirect it?"

"A new one. Gotta write it down. Dellinger. Kizaru. Fuckface hiding in the corner somewhere." Law cast an eye to the ceiling. They weren't high enough for Doflamingo to hide. Plus, he was dead.

"The redhead fuckface, or the pink prick?" Or the one who wore his dinner on his face, or the one made of molten lava?

"Flamingo."

Marco turned his basalt. "You got your basalt?"

"It's warm as fuck, Marco."

"I know. Was I there?"

"Yeah. Thanks. You could feel it?"

"My basalt's warm too. Think I know your nightmares almost as well as you do nowadays. You're safe though, right? Nothing happened?"

"No, nothing happened. Safe." Law lifted his hand from Bleat's hide and dipped it into his pocket, brought out the stones.

"Who won, Law?"

"We won. I won. Redirected it. Took a few tries, but I kicked them out."

"Good. You tired?"

Law pushed his hair off his face, and checked again that he had all his appendages. "The usual."

"Sengoku and Aokiji have a coffee waiting for you. You'll need to convince them you're not the living dead, though."

"I'll put on a happy face."

"Steady there. Don't want to scare them to death."

Law practiced smiling, full teeth - Bleat turned her head away. "Way to make me feel human, goat."

Cupping the stones in his palm, He felt the silver band on the arm holding the phone to his ear. Nothing tied him down – to protect himself and to protect others. That was an improvement. If he'd woken bound, he had no clue where his mind would have gone.

"Battery's almost out, Marco."

"Okay, pirate. You got this. Go sweet-talk them into letting you have your sword."

 **oOOo**

"It's not a ghost, because it has feet."

Law glanced down checking he had two legs, yet again. Ordinary hiking boots scuffing through the dirt outside Sengoku's hut.

"Are you sure? He's pretty ugly."

Law bared his teeth.

"Not at all friendly."

"Ghosts have to be ugly?"

"Scary at least."

"He is that."

Law sat on the bench not too far away from the two, and pushed himself into the corner, bringing his knees up and crouching into them.

"Honey badgers have the sweetest of names . . . "

"He can be sweet to look at, that's for sure. What's wrong pirate? What're you curling your lip for? Should be grateful we didn't string you up."

Law breathed into the cloth cladding his knees.

"You interrupted my beauty sleep with your shenanigans." Aokiji sat back, his hands interlaced behind his head, taking in the early morning rays.

Sengoku stood and pushed a tin mug of tea into Law's hand. Law eyed the coffee on the makeshift table.

The ex-fleet admiral rolled his eyes, and wondered at his increasing hospitality towards this weed. "Tip it out, and I'll fix you up."

Law did as he was told. Sengoku then poured coffee so thick it was almost standing.

Law took the mug from Sengoku, and could only send him a glance of thanks. He sipped it and felt better. Sengoku repositioned himself on the other side of Aokiji.

"Nothing to sweeten?" Aokiji asked Sengoku as if Law was incapable of speech.

"Not much about this guy is sweet."

Bleat padded over and remained near Law, ignoring Sengoku's beckoning.

Law eyed Kikoku, in between the two admirals.

"Sword."

Aokiji turned to Sengoku. "Is the brat talking to us?"

Sengoku glanced at Law over the lip of his cup.

"Sounded more like a croak to me. You think he can express himself beyond monosyllables?"

"They're not the brightest. Pirates. I don't think his vocabulary's matured yet."

"It will mature?"

Sengoku gave up trying to get Bleat to come to the one who fed her, and raised his hands. "Who knows?"

"How old do you think I am?" Law lowered his legs. He finished the coffee and placed the mug on the bench beside him.

"Ooh, he can do polysyllables! I dunno, Kuzan, what do you think?"

"He's younger than you, that's for sure, but then, so am I. Actually, is anyone older than you?"

"Garp's a year younger."

"Really? Kureha?"

"Of course."

Law stared out at the yard. He knew he could walk over and get the sword. Could even use his power to bring it to him, but he didn't want to be too close to the admirals yet, nor give them any reason to invade his space.

"Hard to think he was Roci's charge."

"As different as chalk and cheese."

Aokiji picked up the pot of coffee. A pot of instant coffee. Or was that Law's dream? And poured the two of them – the two marines – another cup. "Sorry, Trafalgar. You'll have to brew some more."

Law tilted his head.

"He stabbed Roci once, he told me." Sengoku jerked his thumb in Law's direction. "Thought it had been enough to kill him, that the blade went clear through. A little ten-year-old. So homicidal."

"Seems he's closer in temperament to that other one."

"You don't say."

Law had never denied it.

"Just as well we didn't give him back his sword."

"Find ourselves serving as some kind of ex-admiral shish kebab."

"If Marco was in the middle, then we'd have pineapple."

Aokiji turned to the Buddha. "You put pineapple on your shish kebabs? What kind of barbarian are you?" His wisdom obviously didn't stretch to the culinary.

"Roci liked it."

Law ran his hand along the weave of his pants. He was happy that Aokiji had reattached his leg even though he hadn't really. He wasn't sure if he was properly awake now. He tried Image Rehearsal to see if he could change the whirlpools of conversation around him.

"If you added Akainu to the mix, it'd have a nice smoked infusion. Chargrilled."

"I wonder who might give it a bit of a zing, a bit of zest. Not Garp. Tough as old leather."

No good. He was awake, and the two _were_ talking cannibalism and self-cannibalism

Law pulled his cap lower on his face. He'd located it before he bore the bright morning, and these two. "He threw me out of a window. Miles out of a window. Six stories at least. Landed in a scrap heap."

"And yet you kept crawling back."

"Until I didn't."

"And he didn't either."

Ah. Law had enough of his own guilt without others piling it on. As if they hadn't sent Vergo. Actions done under legislation somehow avoided scrutiny. But he also knew they were winding him up. He formed a quick room and called Kikoku to him. The admirals didn't react.

"You think he's going to stalk off and be all moody?"

"Kind of like Heathcliff on the moors?"

"Heathcliff was from the middle east?"

"Spain, I hear."

Law stood. "I gotta find some grass to recharge the Den-Den. You guys?"

Sengoku and Aokiji exchanged looks again.

"Babysitting you takes some effort, Law."

"Sorry."

Sengoku pulled out his transponder. "Yeah, give this little guy some sustenance." It still wore a blue scarf wrapped around its neck, making Sengoku's bush of hair and rounded glasses look almost stylish. Law's fatigue lifted for a beat.

He looked over at the fleet-admiral.

"We called him, Law. It seemed he was waiting for it. Couldn't wake you, kid. I was worried about Bleat."

The goat had finally gone to Sengoku's side with Law's departure. The Buddha fed her a cracker.

"I killed her in the dream. Or you said I killed her. I couldn't remember killing her. The first cycle around. My dreams have cycles."

Sengoku's eyes narrowed.

"I wouldn't hurt her, ever. Even in that state." He looked down at his nodachi and at the two marines. Yeah, people were a different matter.

"Go put your snails out to pasture, Law, and stop creeping us out."

"And I'm the sane one of that family, including Cora-san."

Sengoku fed the goat another cracker.

"How would you measure sanity, Kuzan?"

"On a scale of batshit to Law?"

"Mmm."

"On a scale of Garp to Tsuru?"

"Definitely on the Tsuru side of things, wouldn't you say?"

"Wet blanket?"

"Wouldn't invite him to one of my parties unless I wanted to play Simon Says."

Aokiji looked at Sengoku quizzically. Law too.

"How's that work?"

"Doctor Death here could call up a room, dismember half the attendees and not touch the other. Simon says - put someone else's hands on your head. Simon says touch someone else's knees. Simon says . . . "

"How'd you get to be fleet-admiral?"

Law wandered away. Maybe he was the sanest one here too.

"Law?"

He turned and faced Aokiji.

"See any missionaries out there, give them short shrift."

"Is that likely to happen?"

"God works in mysterious ways, Law, mysterious ways."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.** Info about Law and Marco's journey with Image Rehearsal Therapy can be found in the longer version of _Teaspoon Collectors_ on AO3. My user name there is Harmonica_Smile. All feedback is greatly appreciated.


	21. Push bike - Law, Aokiji (Mountain time)

**Chapter twenty-one: Riding along on my pushbike, Honey (you look so pretty) - Mountain Time**

* * *

The mountain streams were filled with smooth basalt like the one Law carried in his pocket. Clear green water ran over them, any depths easily sighted and avoided – or approached. The few paths in the area around Sengoku's hut were wide enough for two people abreast or one man walking, and one on a bicycle. Bleat trotted ahead, or charged up the rear, depending on what caught her attention.

"If you fall in the water Trafalgar, I can't fish you out."

Law didn't bother replying. The same stood for Aokiji of course and he was far more likely to tumble considering the uneven weave of his pushbike. Though the guy had some affinity for water. Maybe freezing it cancelled its debilitating properties. Come to think of it, the ex-admiral probably _could_ pull him out if he had the inclination.

Sengoku had shooed them out. Secret marine business, or he didn't want to share his crackers, or it just became too much to see Bleat cosy up to Roci's son all the time. Roci's . . . Aokiji suspected he wanted to old-man-nap in peace. They'd shaved off his eyebrows the last time he'd done that in marine company.

Law kept an eye out for any mountain vegetables for that night's dinner, any herbs to add to the coriander. Why hadn't he used the tomato leaves to ground him through the nightmares last night? The smell had worn off? He'd put them well out of Bleat's reach? He really wasn't sure. The use of the basalt was new though, and he turned the two stones between his fingers in his pocket.

"Why haven't you and Nico Robin hooked up, Law?"

Aokiji was barely keeping his front wheel steady.

"We're friends."

"The best kind of lovers."

Law knew that to be true.

"What makes you think we'd be good together?"

Aokiji ran a hooked finger across his brow, steering the bike with one hand.

"You both hate marines."

Law didn't respond to that either. There was a childhood reaction to men in uniform mowing down the defenceless that he didn't think he'd ever get past. Then again, that village Eustass wiped out, if there had been a single survivor, surely they'd hate pirates with an equal fervour. Or maybe not. Marines, the World Government, was the mother of them all.

"Yet you wouldn't be where you are today without the marines."

"Alive?"

Aokiji nodded.

"Marines like Vergo?"

"Had us all fooled."

You win some, you lose some, right?

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Law sat on the back of the bicycle, Bleat in the basket. Aokiji had frozen the stream. Law's nodachi was length-ways like a lance between them. How did the Pheasant stop the wheels from skidding? How did Law get himself talked into this? But then again he hadn't been this close to the water for a while, and who was he kidding? He'd jumped at the chance. Just hoped Aokiji's powers didn't cut out as quickly as his own once they'd reached their limit. Did admirals have an endless supply of haki?

A few waterfalls were a solid veil of tears, and though it looked as if they'd freewheel right over the one they currently breached, Law ready to access his teleporting skills, Aokiji somehow kept them upright and intact.

" _Mor-eh-eh-eh!_ " Bleat call out. Law shook his head. Going soft in his old age.

"Atta girl!" Aokiji yelled, his hair flapping behind him, his excited face about as animated as his resting one. "Emotion, Law. Goddamn show some, eh? Pretty fucking awesome, right?"

"Right."

Shooting ninety-degrees down icicles not melting in the afternoon sun _was_ exhilarating. Despite the Alpine climate, any snow topped the far ranges and the terrain nearest them was clear. Law gripped a small bar behind him – just for safety's sake. The chill-air buzzed through him and his throat constricted with the sharp freshness.

"God-damn fucking right, right, Law?"

Aokiji turned his head to look at Law. Law wondered where the bicycle was heading. The ex-admiral noted that the pirate had been a whole lot more agitated and fearful last night and that morning. Now he was almost the most relaxed he'd ever seen him, a throwaway grin crossing his hatched face.

"You're a mad fucker, aren't you, Law?"

Law leant in towards Aokiji's back, hands still grasping the bar behind him.

"Can it go faster? Do _loop-de-loop_ s?"

Plummeting, they rocketed past the face of the falls. Sengoku would kill them both if anything happened to the goat.

"I can make those things happen if I hear some noise from you."

Law bit down, sat back, and weighed up Aokiji's words. No-one was ordering him to call their name, or telling him what to do. Well, they were – but a _loop-de-loop_ on a bicycle? He might just prostrate himself.

"Whoo?"

"Whoo?!" Aokiji's eyes were difficult to read behind his glasses. "You're rushing to your death and all you come up with is _Whoo_?"

"Is this a form of torture?"

"You're enjoying it, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but maybe I'm kinky like that."

Aokiji recalled Phoenix telling them not to chain Law under any circumstances, and he knew that not to be true.

"No. It's not torture. Noises!"

"Arggh?"

"Arararara- _ragh_!"

Law laughed behind him. Oh, that was a different sound and Aokiji found himself smiling.

"Turn!" The pepper in Law's voice morphed into a blunt demand.

"Well, that's about the level of enthusiasm I'd hoped for, but maybe a less pedestrian word?" The iron-press of air around them steamed every surface flat. Brisk. Made you feel alive.

"Turn, _turn_ \- you fuckwit. Freeze the fucking water below or loop us outta here."

Aokiji shifted his head to the front and pulled the bicycle up just as it was about to sink, wheel first, into an unfrozen stretch of river. The wind was up, small white-capped waves patterning the water. Bleat tumbled in. That was a problem, because Aokiji couldn't freeze the river while the goat swam about, and the current was pulling her away.

He iced enough to land the bike. Law swapped out the Pheasant's sleeping mask with Bleat. As he saw it swirl down the river, he realised he might end up paying for that bit of altruism. The goat shook herself out in the basket, water droplets darkening the admiral's jacket. Didn't seem to faze him. Aokiji altered the river as far as he could, and cycled along, keeping an eye out for his mask. Good ones were hard to come by.

About two-hundred metres down the water-way, right near the icy surface, ugly as a squat amoeba, they found it.

"Yours to get, Trafalgar."

"You were the one using Bleat as a sacrificial goat."

"Hurry up and do it before I make _you_ the scapegoat."

"I play that role well," Law said, stepping off the bike. He had a hint of a room humming over the tips of his fingers just in case Aokiji decided to leave him – for shits and giggles – in a deep, flowing body of water.

"Use something of your own, nothing of mine, to get it back."

.

Law brushed the wet malting goat and a clump of fur coated his hand. She pushed her sodden head into Law's flannel shirt, but he wasn't having any of it and moved away.

It was a little difficult, but not impossible, to manipulate the elements between water, ice and earth to extract the mask. But, sopping wet, it was now in his hand, the clump of hair dashing away on the current under the frozen surface. Aokiji hadn't solidified the water in depth and that made him nervous.

"Give."

Law put it in his pocket. It was uncomfortable, but was also collateral. He climbed on the bike.

"Get the both of us out of here, then you get it."

"Tch. I'm not going to leave you here, Law." Aokiji's nails scratched at his neck. His three o'clock shadow pimpling his skin.

Law's hand remained in his pocket, the other gripping the bar. Kikoku held tightly against his body, under his arm. Inelegant.

Aokiji understood that the level of trust Law gave him and the Buddha was something extraordinary. Not now though. He didn't really blame him.

"Say the magic word."

All these games. Was there ever a time that two men were together that they _didn't_ try and compete?

"Please?"

"No, the other magic word."

"Whoo?"

"Yes. Goddamn- _whoo_ -fucking-whoo."

"Whoo."

Aokiji kicked up the stand, iced the river more deeply and set on his way.

"Say it as if avenging every motherfucker who ever crossed you."

"You've got quite the mouth on you."

"I am a marine."

"Noted."

"Whoo me, Law."

Law laughed, surprising Aokiji again. Was this why his strange crew liked him?

It didn't take long for the three-metre plus marine to increase friction and speed, and they were soon streaking along, gaining on another waterfall.

" _Loop-de-loop_ , Dr Death. C'mon – I want recognition for my death-defying feat rather than Death defying me."

"Well, you are defying death . . ." They screamed through the air, Aokiji's feet a blur, Law maintaining a room to keep his hat in his orbit. Aokiji's was buckled under his chin.

"And you're defying me."

"Whoo!"

"Like you mean it, Trafalgar. Hold onto your hat, the grip, and teleport that sword somewhere – here goes."

Law extended the room to protect Bleat and leant back into the grip. Kikoku stuck to him rather than the other way around.

"Fucking awesome, man. Amazing."

" _Whoo-oooo-oooo-oooo-ooo_!" Aokiji's hair flew back, Law turning his head to keep it from his eyes. "That's how you whoo, Law."

"I'll keep it in mind for Marco."

"And _fucking awesome_. What are you, sixteen years old?"

" _Mor-eh-eh-eh!_ "

"That's right, baby," Aokiji murmured to Bleat. Her head, body, whole being was upside down as she casually floated in Law's dome, her hooves cycling like Aokiji's feet.

Law looked _up_ at the sky, his hat below him, he figured they were upside down. He willed it not to land on either the ground nor Bleat's head, or it would suffer the same fate as Sengoku's cap. River, sky, earth – which was which?

A News Coo gull flapped by and looked on with curiosity.

"Bird, come here." Aokiji righted the bicycle for the climb to the apex of his party trick. Pedalling, one hand on the handlebars, he dug through his pocket for some change.

"Coo," the bird cried out, dropped a paper in the basket and flew away.

"Not Coo, _Whoo_!" He waved a hand madly as the gull flapped away. He twisted in the seat to view Law. "How you going with those synonyms, Doc?"

" _Whoo_ tastic, _Whoo_ nderful, Whoo lotta _whoo_ ing going on." _You said fucking awesome first_ , Law thought.

"That's the spirit," Aokiji – well – whooped as he faced the front. "And the Buddha said he wouldn't take you to parties. You're really quite nice once one gets to know you, aren't you Law?"

"Quite."

The Pheasant prepared the bike for a landing, Law neatly fitting Bleat back into the basket and his hat onto his head. The admiral froze the river below them and brought the bike . . . nah, no way he'd let the sub surface that fast, but bicycles were diff.. . brought it to a skidding, shuddering, sprawling halt.

"Baa-aaa!"

"Mahhhh!"

" _Kusou_."

Law landed well with his power, that is, on his feet, and made sure Bleat trip-trapped prettily over the ice, and Aokiji? He could manage. He teleported himself and Bleat to the riverbank.

In the center of the frozen surface, Aokiji stood, dusted himself off and straightened his bike. He eyed Law on the side of the river. He inspected his forearm. A nasty graze from sliding across the ice and colliding with the bike reddened the skin. His trusty steed had flown away from him completely.

"C'mon, don't be such a spoilsport. I took Luffy for a joyride and he got too impatient. When I ran out of aerial acrobatics, he elongated himself to the nearest structure and catapulted us all there. Luckily that strange mechanic could fix my dented mudguard and the wonky spokes. It was a quick way to head home if efficiency trumps broken bones."

Law crossed his arms. That sounded right. He loved riding the waterways, but Aokiji was hard to read.

The admiral walked the bike across the water, feeling Messiah-like, and threw it up to the bank where Law stood. Both the Heart and Bleat scrambled in opposite directions to avoid getting hit. In a couple of strides he stood between them. The grass lush, green, soft. A snooze sounded good.

"Give."

Law had no reason not to, so he passed the mask over. Aokiji wrung it out. "Pull the moisture out of this, will you?"

Law obliged. The two had taken care of him, in their own way, through his nightmares last evening. Aokiji placed one cold palm on the mask to ice it, to soothe his brow. "Run along, Trafalgar. The fairground attraction's officially shut down for the day. See you at the Buddha's."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

He never napped long, but he napped often. When he lifted the eye mask a skerrick, twenty minutes later, he noted the herbs sticking out of Law's backpack. It looked like he'd pulled up half the forest. Bleat's bell tinkled behind them, the goat grazing somewhere. Guess he hadn't been dismissive enough if the Surgeon of Death was still hanging around. Maybe he was waiting for his chance.

Aokiji lifted an eye to observe the goateed pirate. He was looking all pensive and shit, staring off into the distance. But then, he looked that way most of the time. Maybe he was upset they'd called him ugly that morning, but you needed a rhino hide in the New World. Law knew that. And if the cap fit - -

The Heart pirate pulled at some grass and waited for Aokiji to yawn, stretch and sit up. Once he'd rolled his shoulders a few thousand times, laid on his back and wriggled his arms and legs in tandem, and had taken a sip of water from his canteen, Law turned his attention the admiral's way.

"Did Sengoku order the bombing of Ohara?"

Aokiji wondered if the clouds were the intended recipients of the question. He clicked his tongue. Ah, these kinds of topics when he hadn't even completed one REM cycle?

"You asking for your wife? You know she's wedded to the Strawhats?"

Law nodded. Aokiji wasn't sure which query the gesture answered.

He flopped back down. The grass welcoming, the sky blue, even Law looked like an ordinary human being if you dismissed the hand and finger tattoos, the huge nodachi, and squinted with one eye.

"Yeah. The Gorosei ordered him to do it, and I killed Saul, the man who saved her. He was my friend."

"Another one of your party tricks?" No wonder Law felt ambivalent toward him.

"I believed in absolute justice then. I froze Saul a few seconds after Sakazuki sank a boatload of civilians."

Law had heard versions of this story before.

"You still killed Saul?" Can never have too much bloodshed in the marine world.

"He was a threat. We thought he was a threat. We were told he was a threat."

Sounded like some doctors of Law's very brief acquaintance. He knew Aokiji had let Robin go, but that he'd also almost killed her later – as an adult – making her feel less important than flotsam and jetsam, a curse to her friends.

"Blackbeard level?"

"Bleat level." Aokiji acted in keeping with his orders, but he questioned the hell out of them after that.

"Lazy Justice means not caring?"

"I should have cared more. Rocinante was there."

Law turned his head. "You should have cared more because he was there, or just in general?"

"In general." Aokji tried to think back to the ship hugging the coast, as all vessels did for a Buster Call, full of new recruits. "I don't think he hurt anyone, but he was on a ship that fired missiles into the island. They all did."

At least he'd been Doffy's righthand man when the marines exterminated Flevance. Perhaps Vergo was among that contingent. A young Smoker?

"We're pawns, Law. As much as anyone else. The admirals have more power, the fleet admiral even more, but you can't hold up justice by entertaining fields of grey."

Law exhaled. He disagreed.

"At least that's what I used to think."

Law turned to him. Slate eyes clear, direct. "What changed your mind?"

"To be honest, Ohara. Saul. I was the government's mercenary, but I wanted to be the people's protector. But the crux was Marineford, and the battle with Sakazuki on Punk Hazard." He stretched out his peg leg. Why didn't the heat from propelling the bike melt that? "Was it worth losing this over?"

Law looked down at the leg. He didn't know. He was glad someone had challenged Akainu, even if not successful.

"Took some time coming."

"Laziness. Inertia. Complacency. They have a close relationship."

"How about Sengoku?"

Bleat nosed at the tassle on the nodachi, and Law removed it from her sphere.

"When every family flies the military flag, has a son or daughter serving, one needs to be proud. Needs to justify actions. He believed he was working for the greater good."

"Of whom? For whom?"

Aokiji shrugged. "That's the ten-zillion-beri question. Business, ruling classes, royalty. At _every_ stratum there is good and bad."

"But the power resides at the top." And was less populous.

"Termites can collapse a building."

Law watched a bird bob about on the currents in front of them. It wheeled past a clump of trees in a few seconds.

"Did he kill my parents? My family? My town?"

Aokiji cupped his hands behind his head, and leant back.

"Not personally, no. I don't even know if he signed off on that one."

"You weren't there?"

"You should look at the head of the propaganda department to blame for that one, really." Aokiji had heard about Flevance second-hand. He didn't know who pulled the levers on the invasion.

"For the lack of concern, outcry?"

"Even at the top level, very few knew the real story."

Law studied his nails. He'd see if Shachi would do them for him when he got back. He flicked his gaze the admiral's direction.

"Copywriters have designed alternative universes for most of my life. Doflamingo knew, though. He knew Amber Lead syndrome wasn't contagious, when all anyone else saw was the plague."

"Probably bought products right up to the end, or was the gun-runner for the forces sent in."

"He had a thing for the underdog."

"So he could use them?"

"Ultimately, yeah. But he had no stars in his eyes about the World Government."

Doffy favoured those he favoured with security and a sense of belonging, as long as they toed the line. He favoured those in disfavour in quite another way.

"Sengoku knew Cora, he saved Cora. You saved Robin, and Smoker."

"That idiot's a friend. I had too." Aokiji unfolded and stood. He picked up his bicycle, put it on its stand and inspected it for damage. "Is it enough?"

Law looked at Aokiji, confused. Is what enough? He hadn't expected answers. The admiral caught the expression.

"What you get from Sengoku. To make up for any perceived wrongs. Is it enough?"

Law winced. Perceived wrongs.

"He took out Akainu, you fought him. He set the events in motion that killed Ace, but he agreed to stopping that bloodbath, and to letting Shanks take the bodies. He knew Cora." Law said the last quietly. "It's never enough, Aokiji."

The doctor stood and Bleat walked to his side.

"The time I spent with my parents, Lamie - my sister, my friends, Cora – - how can I describe it? Remembrance of it? It's like a whisper passed on the linked fingers of storms, gales and zephyrs, hand-balled to the rotation of a ceiling fan, before fading to the occasional puff of air farted from a leaky air cooler. Stagnant, stale, musty. That's what I'm left with, but it was something stronger once. Purer."

He bent down to scratch Bleat's head and Aokiji straightened, crossing his long arms in front of him to stretch his pectorals, wondering why Law held onto a fart.

"But that remnant is better than nothing, and that remnant is all I have. You, Sengoku and other marines are part of the alignment to making sure the portal is crack-of-light ajar. That there is some access. So no, not enough, but better than the alternative."

* * *

 **A/N: One** of my favourite chapters. Thank you for reading.

A light few chapters recently, though the nightmare chapter was not kind to Law. We return to Law's captivity next chapter, I think. Not a light chapter, but probably the last of the dark ones (can't guarantee it).


	22. Big Bad Wolf -Vergo, Captivity, 26-28yr

A dark chapter. Vergo oversees Law's personal hygiene. **Please read the warnings.**

 **Warnings**. A dark chapter. Sexual Assault, assault, humiliation. Proceed accordingly or hit the back button.

* * *

 **Chapter 22: The Big Bad Wolf - Captivity, 26-28 years-old**

* * *

Law sat at the desk they allowed him, in the room he'd gone through enough abasement to earn - both desk and room - his shoulders tense as Vergo stood in the corner, the shaving strop attached to a hook. He ran the straight blade six times along it in one direction and six times the other, his supplies lined up, a bowl of warm water nearby. They'd allowed Law his own toilet and shower, ultimately, but there was no room for two in there. The way they did it, Vergo had to be dexterous, and he was. But who gave a fuck if he slipped? He was practiced though. His time in the marines made sure he was damned practiced, and they liked Law to look good.

He dipped the badger-hair brush in the water and then into the shaving cream, whipping up a slight lather. Barber scissors sat nearby. A comb. Resting the brush on its base, all items were placed on a small table near a chair he pulled up, and parked himself in. He spread his legs.

"Brat. C'mon. Up."

Law's chair scraped across the floor as he pushed it back and stood. He hadn't been able to focus on his reading since Vergo opened the door. His hands always hit the edge of the desk anyway, elevated due to the bands. He walked over, and stood in front of the muscled man, eyes down, awaiting instruction. Vergo indicated that he turn around. He did, face blank.

Vergo wrapped his arms around Law's waist and pulled him to him, onto his lap, buried his face in his neck. Not because he had any tenderness for the piece of shit, but because he knew it made him as uncomfortable as fuck. He lifted Law's legs so they hooked over his thighs. Vergo hadn't demanded he be coquettish and so he wasn't, but it wasn't the first time they'd done this.

.

Young Master was the one who was into cuddles. It really wasn't Vergo's cup of tea. Brute force and humiliation were more his style, and he guessed the latter was what this was. Though Law did have a certain smell to him, beyond the acridity of fear.

Law had behaved himself across the months and he'd been rewarded with his own room - a bed, a desk, those books - all earned and given on the proviso that he knew his place.

He and Doffy had access to the room and Law at all times of course. They dressed him sharply now. None of those hoodies or coats lettered with satire aimed at the rightful king. Oh, what he could have been. He ran a palm up Law's neck, across his face and over that unruly head of hair, a fully clothed Law, as he held him flush against him, the childish "warlord" still as a rock. His skittering heart. Vergo knew his body well. He could still all else, but not that.

He looked good in the black dress shirts Doffy had him in, all with a touch of trim or flair. Something far more subtle than the Heavenly Demon would ever wear himself, and something that Law may have even personally chosen. He was good that way, Doflamingo, small allowances, benevolence, made Law prettier to look at and far more fun to break. Again.

Give him just a taste of being human, and he might not realise he was captive. Though the dull gold of the bands on his wrists that could be tethered to any of the many hooks and chains around the hideout; that could be hitched to one another when necessary - and it often was - might have countered that perception.

He pushed Law down against his body slightly, spread-eagling his hand against the lighter man's chest, and angled his dark head against his shoulder. Law leant back into it as if he might be taking a nap against his lover. Vergo wiped the shaving cream over Law's face with the brush, well away from his goatee, though he put some on his throat to ensure he could swipe that blade over his Adam's apple, come the time.

He brushed some across Law's lips and, like a good submissive, he remained motionless. It had to be disgusting. He must be itching to brush it away, so Vergo picked up the hand towel kept near and roughly wiped it over his lips, pushing between them, careful not to wipe the cream from his cheeks, or from under his nose and, again, Law didn't move his head away out of annoyance or discomfort, though he coughed. Vergo laughed across his hair. "So obedient."

Once Law regained his breath Vergo pulled his head back, steadying it by the chin, and readied the straight razor to follow the grain of the hair. It was difficult from this angle, but he knew what he was doing. Even so the brat could not stop the flare of panic from crossing his features. He tried though. He knew not to move. That was the most important factor.

When he was younger, they'd used Doffy's strings to get him used to this. He didn't blame him for his fright. Law himself had used such blades to slice opponents open. Had seen what they could do.

Of course it would be easier if Law was in a chair - easier to slit his throat too - but Vergo, in addition to fear, wanted him to feel his erection hard against the cleft of the Heart pirate's arse. Through all the layers of cloth. He knew he could.

Being fucked would be a blessing in comparison to bleeding out, and Vergo could handle the proximity if it resulted in Law's fear, if it contributed just one step toward the shit realising just what he was, or not realising it. His ability to serve being an innate and fundamental - unthinking - part of his being – which it was, of course. He just didn't know it. And once he accepted that, he might never consciously know it again. Not enough to question, anyhow. Vergo was waiting for the day that any thanks given was given gladly.

There were always those who needed to learn their place in the cruelest way possible. It was the only way Law comprehended anything, and just look at the trouble this brat had caused. It wasn't as if his punishment was without reason.

That chip worked wonders, Law didn't struggle, and where would he run to? He'd tried. They just brought him back, like old times. And as when they brought that traitor, Roci, down in that snowy outpost, it wasn't just him and Doflamingo disciplining in controlled doses.

Law had to know he had it good when he only caught the attention of Joker and himself. There was a method to Vergo's violence, after all. Methodically, unthinkingly, fucking good at pounding any semblance of life out of anyone he chose to. The others were a little more unmeasured in their enthusiasm to show their loyalty, and to spill Law's blood.

.

It was always a quiet affair. Personal hygiene. Vergo glided the blade up Law's throat, and later down his cheeks, before going in for a second close shave against the grain on his face. His grip on Law's chin was as firm as his touch with the razor was gentle. He lingered fondly over that swell in Law's throat, that indication of manhood. It pleased him to hear Law's breath sharpen. Wouldn't he just prefer to die by now?

They wouldn't let him of course – the gratification of having him on tap - both in self-chagrin and to let them blow off a bit of steam - far outweighed the irritant of having to put up with the less than savoury parts of his personality. And there were a lot of those. But they'd trained him so well, someone had to reap the rewards, and there was something glorious in his defeat. In him having thought he could outwit destiny.

Vergo splashed the blade in the water. He'd run it under a tap later, and wiped it off, all the while keeping Law close. He crossed his arms across Law's front to do his job, his face close to Law's own, and God forbid that shackled, chipped, indigent make a grab for the tools. Their breath was almost the same steady thing. Law, ya' poser.

He moved slightly so the shit felt him. Jostling against him, lifting him toward him, Vergo felt a jolt of pleasure. Law's breathing changed. That was more like it. He picked up the scissors and a comb, and trimmed the goatee with blades sharper than any scalpel the surgeon had ever owned, he was sure.

There were tools especially set aside for use on Law, because they didn't want to touch equipment contaminated by his skin. Oh, they knew he wasn't contagious. But he _was_ filth. That was all. It was important to remind him. Everything was tagged with the warning: _sterilise after use._ It would be fun to fuck him while wearing a hazmat suit if that could be arranged. He'd have to talk to Doffy about it. Completely dehumanising.

Vergo combed the goatee down - that scrap of hair - when finished, and admired his work and the way the surgeon's breath never failed to shallow. But Vergo prided himself on his skill. Law should know not to be too frightened. It was a bit insulting. Then again, there _had_ been that time. The chin was always the most difficult part, so he was pleased he didn't have to apply the blade to it.

Putting down his tools, Vergo dabbed at Law's skin with a soft cloth, absorbing moisture and wiping away left over shaving cream. He picked up a small bottle, and rubbed a little tea-tree oil on his hands, clapping it on Law's skin. He knew it would burn, but it would also heal.

He avoided the temptation of shoving his fingers into that insipid brat's cakehole. How revolting they'd taste.

Contamination was an issue at all times but inflicting shame brought the greater delight, so it didn't stop Vergo from lifting Law's hand, bringing it to his mouth, and chewing the nails down like a mother with a newborn. And then the other, lingering and examining each of the fingers with a scoff after spitting the clippings to the side.

Those with true power didn't have to state it, Doctor Death. He went below the line a few times. Not on purpose, but he doubted Law would buy that. He felt the fingers, Law's hand, tense, but he didn't pull away.

Law spent so much time indoors nowadays, his nails were weak, and used to this form of care. He'd caught Law chewing on them himself once and the beating he'd given him ensured that all personal deportment was left to Vergo's supervision thereafter. At least for his face and nails. They let Law clean them and brush his teeth and all the rest. No fun tongue-fucking a cretin with bad breath. Feet were left to Trebol and Jora. Trebol had a thing for feet.

.

After he finished, he'd hold Law's jaw in his hand and tip his head this way and that in front of the mirror, in a parody of a real barber. He _had_ fucked Law in front of that mirror after one of these sessions, his hand strongly around his waist as he made the slighter man ride him while he pushed up into him. He'd been so frantic to look anywhere but his reflection, his own legs behind him and hooked around Vergo's lower back, the sacrals, to stop himself from tumbling to the floor. They'd installed such a big mirror for that exact purpose.

He'd always been so flexible. They hadn't allowed him shoes since they'd got him. Playing with the soles of his feet was another pastime, but not today. Screwing Law that way had been fun, but Vergo was not that much of an exhibitionist and he had things to do today.

Or did he? Maybe he could get used to this intimacy. Maybe Law felt some worth in being cradled. He should. He let him have his clothes last time. He might not be so lucky this time. He could make him grow to hate those tattoos, and even if he couldn't, staring at the rise and fall of the new brand must drive home just how far he'd fallen if nothing else. What he'd returned to. Rightfully.

"Legs."

And Law drew them up and hooked them and waited, Vergo steadying his hips. The marine was a good side taller than Law, so it was easy to still breathe into the traitor's neck, to nibble and suck. Law was flexible enough that he folded into Vergo, rather than sat raised above him. His arse maintained its position against his erection, but also pushed softly into his groin and belly.

"You like ink, Law." He brushed his hand across the span of his shoulders, his upper back; across that which could be seen in the gap of his shirt and skin.

"Why don't we lay real claim to you?" He spoke into Law's stiffness. Revelled at the tension. "You like being pimped up, right?" He flicked his earrings. Felt under the shirt for that blasphemous image. Rested a hand on his hip where the new brand lay.

If it was a chick squirming on his lap he'd lay claim to her tits, have a hand dipped below the waistline slipped between her legs. He spread his fingers under Law's top and against his chest. Did it work the same way? He didn't care. It was all a form of what Law owed him. Of what he had to pay for upsetting Doffy and leaving him, Vergo, to die in that factory. His - these nipples, this skin - all his and Doffy's. He chuckled as the nibs hardened.

"So why don't we pimp you up with your pimp's name? _Doflamingo's Whore_ in Gothic across your shoulders. What do you say? It should be an honour."

The blade was folded up and well out of his reach. The seastone weakened, but it didn't entirely incapacitate. No need to offer Law weapons, the devious shit. So the weakling sat there, not sure what to do, not sure of what Vergo wanted. They'd beaten him. They fucking had. He thought he'd die. He never thought he'd be recaptured. Had even thought they'd been victorious for a second. Law's breath was only slightly quickened though. Vergo had to give him credit for control.

"Shirt."

Vergo's arms were still around him, tight enough to keep him there, but not so tight that he couldn't lift the top from between them, over his head, and discard it on the floor, fitting himself back into Vergo's hold.

"Good boy."

Law hoped he wasn't going to use haki.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Really, he was such a busy man. Did he have time for this? but wouldn't it be nice to take advantage of those smooth cheeks, to accept Law's thanks for the favour he'd just done him? Fucking was messy and dirty though, and the executives had business later. He got as much of a kick from watching Law hate every moment of everything they put him through, as in fucking him. More, sometimes. Plus he'd have to send Law to get the lube. Doffy insisted he used it. It would have disrupted the moment.

He could have been just like them, been the one holding the power. Or close to it. He didn't have what it took to rise to Vergo's level. Just a fluke he'd sliced through his haki on Punk Hazard. Circus tricks or that sword. He'd made sure to leave it behind when he'd abducted Law in Dressrosa. He lovingly ran his hands over the exposed skin - if anything he did could be described as loving.

See what happened to those who bit the hand that fed them? He fucking got off on the gooseflesh. Cold or fear? Excitement?

"Trousers. Unbutton, Unzip."

Law did. Again, under Vergo's arms wrapped around him, Vergo's head now pushed against his bare skin, his breath . . . Law's hands did not shake. Whore. So adept.

"You know what to do. It gets you off to feel me, doesn't it?" Vergo pushed up, still clothed. "A cock only has to be in your vicinity before you start salivating, right?"

Law hesitated and then snapped into _what-the-fuckever-land_ they wanted him to be in. If Vergo only wanted him to get himself off it would be a good day for him.

"Noises, Law. My name."

Vergo tugged down the very subordinate subordinate's trousers and boxers, his hips delicious and bruised. Always bruised.

"You come in your own clothes. You get any on me and you won't be walking for a week." He bit on Law's shoulder as the Heart pirate captain - what a misnomer - grabbed his own beautiful dick and, from bottom to top, slid his hand along it with sure, steady, strokes. It wasn't firm. But he was trained. Survival meant he could pretty much do what they wanted, making it seem like what he wanted, and be done with it. If he was lucky.

"You were just waiting for that, weren't you, Law?"

It was easier when he just fucked him.

"Sir."

"My name."

Fuck.

If he worked backwards.

"San."

Fucking Vergo fucking san. San fucking Vergo San.

"All of it Law."

The creep had both arms wrapped around him and Law jerked his hips in a way he hoped would gratify him somehow into thinking that the face of his dreams wore a hamburger on its fucking cheek. He deliberately made his breath thicker and more needy. Out of control. Vergo probably saw through it.

"-go san." His voice gravelly and deep with a hint of the fear they needed to hear, that tiny hitch in the exhalation.

"Good." The fucking sadist laughed against him. "Your eagerness tells me all I need to know about you."

How fucking humiliated was he? He shouldn't bring them in here. Not into this nightmare, but Law tried to think of Penguin. Of the times he'd spent with Luffy. Hardly enough time at all. And he tried to link any physical pleasure he felt to memories of them, and not to anything Vergo or Doflamingo made him do, not to how they defined him. He'd never had a picnic with either, but the pirates and marines gathered at Punk Hazard, the casual fires lit here and there in the snow, and the sheltered things he and Penguin tried to light after his escape, blended into a bucolic pasture, where Bepo conversed with the cows and Law's hand was Luffy's hand. Not a drop of pre-cum until they told him though.

"er-go."

"Law."

"er-go san."

I think therefore I am. Cogito ergo sum. Cogito Vergo scum. Penguin sweet next to him as either boy fumbled with not hurting the other, Law guiding, always guiding.

The den-den mushi started up. Doflamingo.

Fuck, thought Law, though nothing was new under the fucking sun. The sound of his hand against his skin, and his skin against his body, and his thickening breath, did not diminish. The band hitting against the skin of his groin. He liked that sting almost. It reminded him he had _not_ agreed to this.

.

"Vergo?"

Vergo's grip indicated that he didn't want Law to stop. This so called grown man on his lap. Law didn't have to be told.

The expression on Doflamingo's transponder was petulant. Vergo was having fun without him.

"Law's about to call my name, Doffy."

"Is he now? Let's hear it then."

Vergo placed the transponder near the shameless noise of Law rapidly moving his hand along his own flesh, and it caught the quick phlegmy breaths punctuating it.

"Is he that excited to see you?"

"I had no time to fuck him, so, what the hell, let him fuck himself. He'll remember it. He's riding my cock though it's not in him. On my lap, through my slacks. I'm sure it's enough stimulation for a cheap whore."

"And for you too, dear Vergo. We do want you to get something out of it, but we don't want you dishevelled."

"No, it's why I'm getting my amusement in other ways." His fingers dug into Law's side.

The den-den paused for a while, laughed, spoke to someone in the background, and then snarled, "Forget about him. We're busy. There'll always be a table waiting to bend that tart over. I need you."

Vergo perked up. He wasn't Baby 5, but he came when Doflamingo called. He sat up straight, unlinking his hands from Law, Law almost falling of his own volition if Vergo hadn't first pushed the younger man to the floor, like wiping crumbs from his lap.

He fell with a yell on his wrist, not the one around his cock. Vergo stood on that free hand, like he had to that traitor in the snow. Law's distress articulated in staggered bursts.

"I didn't tell you to stop. Call my name."

Law didn't feel like tugging on anything or calling anyone's fucking name. But that was the definition of his captivity, right? He had no say in it.

"There are cameras watching you, and you know it. When you come, call my name and I'll be back to see you tonight whether you do or don't deliver on that, but you better. It _will_ determine my mood."

Law just glared at him. Out of fucking breath. Still semi-hard, but not wanting to take anything any further at this fucking stage.

" _Fuffufufuu_. Is someone being recalcitrant?"

How could he be fucking recalcitrant when he'd said about four words since Vergo decided it was time to run a cut-throat razor along his skin, and he had his hand wrapped around his cock at the first instance of the fake Corazon's fucking bidding?

The marine stepped off Law's hand and gave him a swift kick in the gut, and another under the chin, before packing up all the accoutrements of shaving, making to leave. He'd keep. This pathetic, grovelling, would-be scholar.

"Wait, Vergo? His arse on display?"

"Like a fucking cat on heat."

"A little corporal punishment never hurt anyone."

No. Law, still coughing from the kicks, tried to sit up to pull up his clothes. His wrist was at a fucked-up angle.

"Over your knees. I want to watch. In front of his desk. The meeting can be delayed a short while. Or maybe our attendees can spectate. A light diversion before getting down to the nitty-gritty."

"As you wish."

"Vergo?"

"Sir."

"Make it hurt."

Vergo marched over and dragged a foul-mouthed Law by the hair to the newly vacated chair. Something wrong with his hand. He was trying to cradle it, pull up his clothes, push Vergo away, his toilet mouth incessant. Oh, someone needed taming alright. All his previous compliance obviously an act. This was Vergo's favourite sport. It made him feel all was good in his world.

He yanked Law's trousers and briefs down to calves. If he tried to waddle away now he'd face-plant for sure. Surgeon of Death. He positioned him over his knees so that the hardy-ha-ha pirate's half hard erection would push down into his clothed thigh with every slap.

"Armament, Vergo, make it magic. Make it shine." Make those bruises pop, baby, Law thought bitterly.

.

Law was not silent now, Vergo would have to stuff his mouth. His ams clumsily dangled in front of him, reaching for the ground. The ache of the wrist he'd fallen on intensified with every contact against the chair legs. Vergo wondered if he should fasten those bands to them, but no. Better it seemed Law was too pathetic, not willing enough to get away.

"Grip the chair legs, Law."

He did, holding lightly with the damaged hand.

Vergo pushed his head down. "I said grip." Law overcame the soreness to curl his fingers more tightly. All the blood rushed to his head. He was as important as the pile on the carpet that filled his view at the moment. That was all. Something to be trodden on, often.

Doflamingo spoke from the transponder. "Law, this is for Dressrosa. For what you made me do to Rocinante."

Vergo felt the warmth of Law's soft skin with a connoisseur's touch before delivering the first stinging blow.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

There were surveillance den-den's all around the room. Vergo had urged him to half-hard, more than half and, the fucking machine he was, had paddled Law's arse until he wouldn't be sitting down anywhere and would be sleeping on his stomach for a week.

Vergo wasn't going to stop until Doflamingo told him to, and Doflamingo wasn't going to tell him to until Law had counted into the double figures at least, plus some. Until his voice cracked.

He'd called out everyone's fucking name for them, and begged Vergo to lead him down the path of righteousness, brother. He'd thanked them. He had fucking thanked them. His ears burned.

So with Doflamingo's fancy-schmancy trousers hung low, Law wandered – oh, too confident a word choice – limped to the desk where one of the surveillance transponders, the one with the Beatles cut and food stuck to its face, constantly tracked him and recorded every abuse they tickled his skin with, the duo playing it back to him at times.

He finished the job Vergo had urged him toward, before his _master_ had decided to extend his punishment; single-minded, ignoring any pleasure, and the pain of his wrist. They couldn't see his shaking hands. The greater joy was in aiming for the den-den as he called out Vergo-san's fucking name. He wiped the excess over the parts of the lens that his ejaculate had not covered. He apologised internally to the snail. It wasn't its fault, not really, though the gaze was always unforgiving.

He'd pay for it later. Be put over Doflamingo's knee this time, Trebol's or Diamante's, and that would be getting off lightly. He was paying for it now too with his own jizz all over his fingers. At least it was his.

Paying for it with his bruised fingers and possible broken wrist. He hoped not. He hoped it was just a severe strain. But he paid for it anyway. Whether he played along or not. With Vergo, anyway. Doflamingo could be gentle as pay-off for Law's subservience, but he knew that just damaged him in other ways. Less physically severe meant more chance of survival, though.

.

On nights like these, when and if he could finally get to bed - lying in the most vulnerable of positions, on his stomach, his good hand under his chin, one of the bands pressing into his cheek if he rested his head to the side - he'd think of his enclosed and safe room in the Polar Tang. How far away it was from anything. How much controlled by his own self, his own sphere.

If he could flare up a room now he would. He made the gesture. Those cuffs were solid against his skin. The chip remained. Nothing happened. He wondered if he could remember how. A room, inside a room, inside a room, inside the giant jellyfish hug of the ocean.

There among the jellyfish blue - there must be some kind of comfort. Cora's dome had a purple tint and his own, blue. The membrane promising a close snuggle in the way of a spider's thread. The jellyfish could use it to take in oxygen, life affirming and necessary in a way that the Tenryubito bubbles on Saboady were not. But the currents directed the flow of the jellyfish, as they put down tentacles to pull in mollusks and plankton. Law and Cora could control their spheres, and Law especially could determine what went on within. Not quite adrift. Nowhere near as adrift as he was now.

He thought of Cora, as he always did. His family, but also Penguin, who valued him beyond his skills, and he reflected on whatever he'd started with Luffy. It had been a long time – he tried to keep track of it. He thought he'd had a birthday. A year at least had passed - maybe. He reminded himself he was a doctor, a surgeon, a fighter, a swordsman, a captain. His name was venom on the tongues of Doflamingo and Vergo, and he fought not to believe it was synonymous with whore, with expendable. Was there a chance any crew would find him? Any chance of escape again?

* * *

 **Thank you** for reading. A short chapter to follow this. Also not the happiest. Some respite soon after. Luckily it's a very quiet time fandom-wise.


	23. A Good Boy - Captivity:26-28yrs (Vergo)

**A/N: Warning** for menace, mentions of sexual assault, assault. Adult content. Please proceed accordingly.

* * *

 **Chapter 23 - What a good boy am I - Captivity, 26-28 years (Vergo)**

* * *

Vergo sat in front of the monitor watching the shaking bundle under the sheets. Had they rewarded Law with silk sheets lately? Any reward was linked to his true profession. Positive reinforcement. He was crying. Look at him. Sobbing. Or jerking off, but he truly would have lost his mind if he could manage that, find solace in that after the ministrations of the afternoon.

Make noise, damn it, Law. Make some _fucking_ noise. His silence just another act of useless defiance. Vergo's lip curled. He'd promised Law a visit, but first needed to see if he'd been a good boy or not. He scrubbed at the monitor. Why was it so blurry?

The reinstated Corozan reviewed everything, and though the obvious power disparity sent heat straight to his groin, he was too meticulous to act upon it. Had Law done what Vergo wanted, acted as was required of him, throughout? They were the pressing questions.

There he was, the sloppy-arsed tart, grinding into him. Getting off just from the presence of a real man. Some cunts just had to be dominated, begged to be shown who was boss. Cute little sounds he made, though you had to listen closely to catch them.

Every frame was scrutinised for subterfuge, disobedience. Vergo scolded himself for that kick. He must have been distracted. Shoddy work. It should have left Law seeing stars, but he'd had enough power to try and get away. Try being the operative word.

But Vergo was pleased to see that his rump paddling skills, his skills of submission, of making Law submit, were still next to none. Who put the discipline in disciplinary action? Yeah, baby. He cracked his knuckles, pleased that the brat was a lot more bruised than his hand was. Beating him had only made it warm and tingly.

Red. Law was red all over, from hurt and shame. Vergo's technique? He'd worked long and hard to perfect delivering maximum pain with inescapable, unavoidable rhythm and regularity. _This will hurt me more than it hurts you, Law_. Yeah, right. Vergo laughed under his breath. That might be the case if it were Doffy squeezing a handful of that flesh.

Fool. Look at the scum beg, squirm against every stinging armament-hardened cup of his palm against that squishy, soft arse. They'd get good money for that clip.

Ah, he had listened. Damn, they'd have to get someone to look at that weirdly angled hand tomorrow, but just how cowed was he to be fapping when he could hardly stand?

Vergo had left him on the floor, trying to clutch his trousers, to pull them up. He'd walked over his back. He was pretty sure he'd shuddered under him as he pushed his head further into the carpet with the toe of his shoe. By all rights, he should be out cold – but there he was tugging away like the lapdog he was - pretty pooch, Law. He suspected that his protests were all an act.

Yes, yes. That's it slave, right in front of the camera. Limping. He couldn't quite saunter, could he? with his dick in his hand and his arse having been thoroughly served to him.

Vergo tipped out a toothpick from a canister near the monitor, and pushed his chair back to observe, to hear, to gloat, to audit. Those bands looked good. Matched those prissy earrings.

What was that?

His trousers loose on his hips. They didn't let him have a belt, and —?

He could move that hand?

Bend his fingers and lift the middle one in the air?

The chair legs hitting the floor were the loudest noise in the surveillance room. The next Law's scraped, exhausted voice, and that revolting sound of him pulling his own dick.

"Vergo."

He stroked along his length, and didn't care that his free hand could barely hold up his clothes.

"-motherfucking-"

He was there. He was almost there. Hadn't he been instructed to come in his clothes?

"-cocksucker-"

Vergo reached for his bamboo staff. A vein near his temple twitched.

"-san."

And he coated, _coated_ the Den Den with jizz. It must have temporarily blinded the snail. The snail with Vergo's face. The spoiled shit lifted the other hand, the other finger, also covered in white now, and he smiled, that Trafalgar Law, shit-eating grin of a smile. Way out of order, dead man.

Vergo let out an exhalation. Stupid, Law. Very, _very_ , stupid. He made sure to watch every frame up to the present, including the insanely long time it took the brat to have a shower, as if he didn't know about the water restrictions. Maybe it was the hand and the fact he could hardly walk, but that wasn't enough of an excuse.

Vergo watched to the point Law gingerly eased himself onto his stomach and tried to draw the covers around him. The ex-marine straightened his tie, stood up, pushing his chair against the desk. He brushed his hair back with his palm, picked up his staff, coated it in haki, and exited the office, switching off the light as he went. The best bedtime stories packed a moral.

* * *

 **Thank you** for reading. A very short chapter. Marco and Law coming up soon.


	24. Black Velvet Band(it)–Captivity, 26-28yr

**A/N: Warnings** : Reflection on Law's captivity, therefore, reflection on sexual abuse, rape, but not a graphic or explicit theme of the chapter, and not the whole of the chapter, though it has its moments. Mature content. Please proceed accordingly.

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-four – Black Velvet Band(it) - Captivity (26-28yrs)**

* * *

The marks on the backs of his hands – Doflamingo's Jolly Roger blocked and blacked out, into a design Law preferred – were hidden if he crossed them on his lap, upturned palm in upturned palm.

It seemed strangely remiss that the Don Quixote scion had _not_ peeled back the skin, applied hydrochloric acid (at the most gentle), in an attempt to restore the original design. He was grateful for the lapse.

His thumbs tapped one against the other. On one of the quieter nights, Doflamingo had taken his hand in his own, Law suffocating in that bed, his hand swamped in the shichibukai's paw. Doflamingo had traced the original design over the altered one with his tongue, maintaining eye contact with his subordinate. It would have been folly to look away.

It had almost been tender if it wasn't such an obvious reclaiming, if that ox-thick slug didn't block his own windpipe on such a regular basis. If Doflamingo had not so obsessively known the contours of the Don Quixote Jolly Roger, and its exact placement on Law's skin. Almost tender if Law had any say in his own participation, and in whether he'd wanted to be marked with the ugly fucking thing in the first place.

"Why change it, _mi amor_? A thousand would pay to have your position. Then and now."

A thousand had paid to position him, Law thought, or paid thousands to do so when Doflamingo wanted to shame him further or couldn't pass up the money.

This room, this mansion, this prison. It was noisy. Law imperceptibly – he hoped – cupped his palms, so they sat adjacent to one another, his eye following the past, present and future along the lines of his hands. Breaking glass, shouts, curses echoed around him. He didn't look up.

What had he done that night in response to Doflamingo's question? Placed his other hand, flat – the tattoo in Law's vision – against Joker's smooth cheek? The man used only the best creams. Drawn him into a kiss? Biting his lip – softly, cheekily, looking up at his entitled face with the promise of being with him, beside him? His lashes fluttering prettily? The promise of his body and words to soothe away the wrongs of villagers, celestial dragons, the executives, the marines, his own transgressions? (But not Cora - he would never give him Cora). Had he pitched his breath at the right level of want, excitement, fear?

Yeah. He'd done all that. As Doflamingo twisted Law's earlobe, and the piercings they let him keep, with just a little too much force, the Heart captain leant into his palm, and feathered kisses along the demon's own fate, heart and life lines, humming into the skin. So long as the monster fucked him as if they were equal lovers who'd agreed to a night in each other arms, it was worth it.

Was that Jora he heard calling? _Rat-ta-tat-tat_? Gladius taking up arms? Boots? A thousand boots running through the halls?

The seastone continuously weakened him, and his immunity was down. Nothing had healed properly since Dressrosa. Vergo had played his spine like a xylophone with that staff one night. Every Good Boy Does Fine. He hadn't been good. Just deserts for a small act of defiance. He'd been lying on his stomach because it was impossible to sleep on his back because he'd already been beaten black and blue earlier in the day. At times the pain from that injury was, ugh - something he couldn't get away from. Vergo'd used armament haki.

There was no guarantee that Doflamingo wouldn't turn, but sometimes the bastard found it charming when Law raised his arms, the cuffs so permanently attractive, and faced him with need, and at those times the giant held him tightly, and rocked him rather than battered him. Power, his aphrodisiac, though the sex was never gentle, just a little less rough.

Other times Law worked damn hard to make sure that all Doflamingo stripped him of was his humanity.

And during yet other (forced) liaisons, Law resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't sure how many broken bones, how much serrated and eventually suppurated skin, he'd wake to – if he woke. How many flashes of fluids other than his own saliva pooling in the corners of his mouth, smeared over and pumped into his body, would fill his gustatory and tactile recall. How much he'd gag on his own odours, or an actual gag, depending on what kink they found amusing that day. His hair, hands, breath, repugnant. He'd wake disgusted at his old man tremors. He was only twenty-eight, he thought. He'd had two birthdays. He wasn't sure.

Sometimes he was lucky and a night's events, an any-time-of-the-day event, wouldn't catch up to him until long after it had occurred. His psyche selfishly held onto some self-preservation techniques and wouldn't share them with his awake state. Better than when he not only recalled all in pristine detail, but on endless loop. His ability to compartmentalise was wearing thin.

He didn't move his feet now, though they tingled with pins and needles. Each movement of his hands was slow, meditative.

Dellinger had found something other than himself hilarious, though there was a touch of hysteria to the laughter ringing out through the mansion, but when wasn't there?

Law made a conscious effort to accept and celebrate – one measly inchworm hunch to the next – that it was a huge fuck you to Doflamingo and Vergo both if he was still alive, or more so, if he could think, just for a moment, for himself.

And though Doffy categorised his conditioning as Law's true nature, he knew in his more lucid moments – when his hate rightfully spat outwardly, rather than closing down and injecting his capillaries with self-loathing – Law knew that self-preservation was a way of exerting his will, even when it corrupted and damned his will. Even if his body reacted at a base, biological level at times and filled him with shame - - _fuck it_ \- - a part of him knew that giving up a lot to gain a little was maybe _the_ only way through. Would he make it through?

Compromise created a toehold in a tentative future. Part of Law understood that his future _could_ change. His present might change. There was a slim chance he'd escape and run to his future again. It had taken three years last time. _Sometimes_ he remembered that.

Like now. Those bullets buzzing around like mosquitoes? They could change his future, especially as he didn't feel like budging from this chair. Could be that sitting here was the same kind of gamble he took when he pretended he had the power to seduce Doflamingo. Oh, he had some wiles, he knew, but it was all due to enslavement. Think outside of the box while confined within it. The things you learn under duress. Exploiting being exploited. What kind of sick fuck did that make him?

He stared down at his fate line. It was staggered, that was for sure. Almost vanished at the point of when he guessed his childhood ended – when he was thirteen – maybe earlier when the World Government had levelled Flevance. Very faint until he'd fled when he was sixteen, strengthening until Dressrosa, where it almost disappeared again, splintering into a few branches.

And now, what stage were they at now? It ducked below the head line and started a new, always jagged, path to the heart line, and finished past it. The heart line itself forked in places. As for his life line, he'd seen shorter.

He couldn't be sure, he'd need Hawkins to confirm, but he took heart, Cora's goofy giggling bazooka-laden heart; held a strange kind of faith, in the fate line finishing strongly. The ragged indentations crossing the heart line eventually creased into a Sandora River of a stroke. Not quite as winding, but converged into an eventual solid body, not a series of tributaries. Was that now? From now?

Marines, all lined up, guns aimed at him, wondered at the twisted smile.

He sat back. They tensed. Law closed his eyes, his hands still so calm in his lap, and swallowed. No point in thinking about it. False hope, hope, a cruel condition.

His eyes flit open, and he shifted his left hand so it held and crossed the palm of the right. He ran his thumb along the fate line, tapering off at his middle finger, his other digits meeting it at the tip.

Strange, all that noise going on. He really didn't care, though the marines might shoot him just because. He should care, should be concerned, especially considering how concrete that fate line became. If he wasn't careful, the more humane would put a cartridge through his carpals to prevent him from forming a Room. As if he could.

He seduced Doflamingo on occasion for survival's sake, and had done and endured almost every single fucked-up thing he or Vergo had demanded of him for the same reason, and now he didn't really give a shit if one of those bullets found its way between his very peaceful brow, let alone his palm. The marines would execute him anyhow, and his wrist was still misaligned. One might view it as adding insult to injury if they shot him. Some days he could hardly curl that hand.

He didn't regret Dressrosa. Not one bit. Had anyone got as many shots at adult Doflamingo as he had? Before Luffy, of course. Fair shots. Trebol had been worried, so Law knew he hadn't been totally outclassed, though he'd been far from equal.

He didn't regret Punk Hazard, allying with Mugiwara, taking in Jean Bart before that. It wouldn't end with valour for him, but if a bullet removed him from this fucking misery, he'd thank Bepo and Penguin for restoring him, his crew for loving him, even though he'd let them down. He'd thank Luffy for trusting him, for coming back for him, and Robin for the conversation. And then. So long, thanks for the memories, it's been a blast.

He didn't win, hadn't won, but had stepped toward reshaping the world and, even if the marines and Doflamingo remained at the top, he'd spoken, had acted against corruption. Even if they broke him further, they couldn't change that.

He pushed a thumbnail into the skin just near the Mount of Jupiter, below his index finger. Shachi and his old wives' ways and long nights on the sub meant all the Hearts had some familiarity with the art of fortune-telling. Some dismissed it out of hand even while Shachi pored over their hand, they were medical practitioners after all, but everyone wanted to hear about themselves under the guise of the mystical.

Law hoped for a scar. If he waved the mark in front of Vergo, maybe he'd chow down. Anything from the mouth of that mongrel turned septic.

He watched the angry skin regain a more harmonious tone. That half-moon, that crescent. If they executed him, the mark would remind him he tried.

If he lived his life as Doflamingo's fucking concubine, if he ended his days wandering the earth in a haze of old man stained pants lost directions – brutalised beyond what was considered polite even for World Nobles, far beyond what his mind could cope with – he'd stare down at that crescent and know he'd done something good once. He'd be too fucked-up to remember what of course. But a positive association might remain.

He turned his head slightly as the yelling increased, a door slammed, and something heavy skidded across the floor.

If they didn't take him, he hoped they killed him. They were going to do it anyway. Freeing him would be nice, but from the distance he knew he looked every inch the executive, except for his bare feet. The floor had stopped feeling cold below them long before because it had never stopped feeling cold.

Trebol shaped his toenails nicely, waxed off his hairs. Sugar or Jora usually painted them. The two never complained when Trebol attended to their grooming, so Law knew it was deliberate when the executive left the wax on a little too long, cut the nails a little too close to the ridge, dribbled his flammable snot all over him, and lit matches for the hell of it. At least they didn't manscape him. Surprisingly enough. Law tried to stop those thoughts. Imagination and reality had a horrible tendency to intersect.

The gun slid to a stop just near his chair. If he picked it up they'd shoot him. Which side he wasn't sure, but he thought it had come from the Family, so maybe they'd be less likely to take him out, but he wasn't counting on it. He knew their secrets and there was no love lost.

His eyes gleamed for a second at the possibilities as he took in the barrel, the muzzle. Maybe it was a sure-fire escape if he picked it up, death by firing squad, and he might even send a lucky bullet Doflamingo's way before the marines annihilated him. Not his weapon of choice though. Thank god Vergo had been too gutless to take Kikoku when he'd seized him. The remaining Don Quixote pirates had abandoned Dressrosa, so she was probably in good hands.

But, if Doflamingo won – and the family was insanely strong, but so were the admirals – Law's punishment would break another boundary he hadn't even begun to dream of, and he had a vivid imagination. So he glanced at the firearm from the corner of his eye, knowing that any movement, even the turn of his head, would leave him impersonating a colander, at the least.

He wasn't restrained, restricted. Of course, the usual chip in his ear and manacles on his arms to fetter him like cattle when they wanted to, except they hadn't. They liked to pretend he was part of the group when they had their weekly meetings, just to proclaim his lack of worth, to list his misdemeanours for that week, which could range from the mundane to the mendacious.

He'd sneezed. He'd kept someone's gaze, hadn't looked someone in the eye. He'd brought someone to orgasm, was responsible for someone's inability to get it up. Who woulda thunk it? That rape wasn't an instant turn on for everyone? Law's lip curled.

Why couldn't they just play Monopoly like other dysfunctional families? Disinvite him to weddings like other pariahs? How many times had Vergo bent his finger to breaking point when he'd flipped off that bunch of parasitic, arse-licking piranhas?

The marines bristled when he exhaled in frustration, a puff or air lifting his fringe. An inside birdie must have tattled. The navy knew at what time and where everyone would be gathered. Full of pasta or what-the-fuck-that day's lunch happened to be. Not fish, anyway, Law thought. Nor a rice ball in sight. Except if it contained umeboshi. Naturally. He ate and threw up, or he didn't eat at all.

 **oOOo**

Doflamingo hated seeing his asset, his investment, go to waste, so part of him still held hope that Law would contribute his brains, his brawn and his brutality to his dealings. If muscle could be considered brawn. The underling sparred with Diamante, so he was still in shape, but he never won.

They only removed the chip when they wanted him to semi-heal quickly and they kept his hands splayed so he couldn't form a room. They just wanted his devil fruit to work in conjunction with his own immunity and the natural mending of his body. Bend and mend, that was the Don Quixote policy when it came to Law, Doffy only keeping him alive for the possibility of his own immortality. And he loved owning him. Revenge was an unquenchable thirst. They called on Law's surgical skill at times, albeit unaided by his fruit.

Law thought he might still have some access to his haki, or it could be there were just so many guns trained upon him that he couldn't help but feel them. Doflamingo, busy fighting Akainu, was distracted by the sight for a second, and though he might lose the treasure of his crown, he couldn't resist the opportunity to fuck Law up, even though he'd felt both a sense of achievement and disappointment in his rag-doll disposition of late.

The Heart captain jolted upright, all jerky movements and uncoordinated limbs, the chair toppling as he stood. With the seastone chip implanted he didn't have the speed to avoid any of Doflamingo's strings. Another lacerated his hand and opened his fingers as if forming a Room, or as if using his power to pull the near gun toward him. Law woke, a little. He didn't feel fear. Only detachment and annoyance, but not surprise, at being manipulated. Even so, his breath almost drowned out the rest of the chaos. So this was how it ended. Another invisible string launched the gun through the air. It'd be best they took him out before Doffy forced him to take them out.

Too absorbed with Law's disengagement to realise the admiral was closing in on him, Kizaru pierced the pink giant with light, followed by a hail of seastone bullets fired by supporting forces. Akainu moved in before the heavenly demon could regenerate and, in a flurry of feathers and profanity, the marine shackled and chained him, deciding to spare his life for reasons of his own. It had been quite the battle. No-one underestimated Doflamingo.

The string curled around Law's arm and the one propelling the gun slackened and the weapon clattered to the floor. Law let his arms and hands drop and pushed them flat against his sides like a schoolboy lining up outside a classroom, knowing any gesture could be misinterpreted. He didn't sit, stood to bowed attention, unsure of whether he should move or not, his gaze on his manicured toes.

The collective click of weapons spread an inkling of fear along his spine, infiltrating Vergo's opus. Stay standing, Law. Remain still. If they were all as clumsy as Cora-san, or even a handful were, it explained their unpreparedness in not having their guns ready, and tripled the danger he was in.

Something hovered over him. He wanted to bat it away, but didn't budge. Remaining cool like Kuzan was the best course of action at present. That spider-general, Onigumo, floated above and, as if Law didn't have enough seastone in his life, netted him.

He slumped to the floor against the upturned chair leg, the gun perilously close. Demons, demons, and more demons – this one pushed a sabre into his neck through the weave, waved a remaining six swords about just in case he hadn't got the message, and with an eighth appendage picked up the gun and pressed it against his head.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

He'd just sat there. Weirdest thing ever. Hands resting quietly in his lap as if in deep in meditation or sitting in the confessional, hearing the sins, not claiming them. That pirate who'd disappeared off the face of the earth two years ago. He'd helped them out in Punk Hazard, but he'd also put them through shit, humiliation. Sliced her in two. Those kids, Mocha, wouldn't be okay if not for him though. The ex-shichibukai, the Surgeon of Death.

He was doing okay. Looked sharp. Except for the barefoot thing. What was that about? Who dressed in a suit and dress shirt, tailored trousers, kept their hair neatly trimmed, and – her gaze went back to his feet – regularly had pedicures, if they weren't part of the elite of the Don Quixote clan? Who else could afford such vanity? Was so brazen? Ostentatious?

He'd fooled them on Punk Hazard. Vergo and Caesar had squeezed his heart so he'd cried out, and Smoker had reported he'd survived a thrashing before his nodachi sliced straight through the traitorous marine, the factory and the mountain. To no avail. Vergo had bounced around this hideout, launching himself from walls, trying to woo his men back to him, exterminating those who were bewitched and those who weren't. Every single member of the family was responsible for every marine loss. Including Trafalgar Law.

Issho said Sengoku was the last person to see the Heart captain. Rumours that the marines were torturing him in an underground bunker for information ran wild, but no – here he was cosied up with his old crew. Though he hadn't fought for them, nor against them. Hadn't even reached for that gun until the last moment.

Admiral Onigumo snared the pirate, and he collapsed against the chair, the leg digging into his back. That was quick. One of eight hands held the gun, released the safety, and touched the weapon to Law's temple – the pirate rigid – before passing it to one of Tashigi's crew, safety in place. The captain pushed over and Shigure's blade was at Law's neck too, under his chin. No reaction.

He flicked his eyes up to her for a second, those unsettling grey and gold things, and then finally out to his surroundings. Her ranked sword – perfect for bringing in criminals, and too pure to be tainted – held him. And the net. Onigumo withdrew his blade, and with a nod to Tashigi, scuttled away. Law's breath was regulated.

He watched now, as much as he could, the huge marine force round up one member of the family after the other, the ones not already in Impel Down or gone their own way.

Law wasn't sure who jeered the most, the marines, sharply pulling their captives' hands behind their backs, fastening the cuffs, winding chains on the fruit users, and pushing them out the mansion into what he guessed was waiting transportation, or the crew.

All fought, snarled, cursed, threatened, except Law. Silent throughout. He offered no resistance as they pulled him to his feet. Handy that they only had to chain those existing cuffs, but they also wrapped seastone a few times around him, and he seemed more depleted than the others.

He stumbled as Tashigi's men dragged him out of the house and the marines were not the only ones who laughed at his loss of control. On instruction, they kept him separate from the top executives, and the Don Quixote officers tried to keep themselves separate from him. Gladius spat on the bench as the marines pushed him down. Tashigi took note, puzzled.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"He just sat there, Shigure at his neck. Didn't even flinch." Tashigi placed the massive _Operation Shichibukai Down: Former and Current_ file on Vice-Admiral Smoker's desk.

"Nothing new for Trafalgar." Smoker opened it and flicked through, the air in the room thick from his cigars. He'd never truly known the man, despite _knowing_ him, but Law had defeated Tashigi on Punk Hazard without a blink. Why would he grow less dispassionate about an enemy? It wasn't his style.

Tashigi shook her head. "No, there was nothing. No sneer, no contempt, no dismissal of me as a woman or a marine. Nothing. I feel I could have slit his throat and he would have welcomed it."

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for reading.** This brings us to the beginning of _Repossession,_ and the first chapter gives a basic outline for that story, and a lot of this one.

As mentioned in _Repossession_ , Law's hand tattoos being inked-in Don Quixote Jolly Roger designs was first read in Worth(check out my bookmarks for that one). Also following that fabulous story, Penguin and Law did the very non-canon thing of escaping from Doflamingo's ship when Law was sixteen.

I know I promised a Law and Marco chapter, and it's coming. Law gets some well-deserved sweetness soon. He is strong, despite being largely incapacitated in these chapters. He has to be to survive all this with his sanity in any form intact.


	25. Lion and Blue - Red Force, Marco, Law

**A/N:** Here you go. A day early. A few people seem to be reading this, so I hope you enjoy it. **Slight warnings**. Some sweetness for Law (and Marco) mostly. But remembered past features at times.

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-five: Lion and Blue - The Myelin Incident: Parts 1, 2, 3 & 4**

* * *

Blue on blue, their powers in tandem, quite a beautiful thing. Low-tidal suction, murky sands, clams hastening into the sludge - an ache washed over Law at times and it was difficult to raise a Room when it happened, his hand and arm almost paralysed; some long-term damage from Doflamingo's torture, some reflection still seen through the sheen of a sharp-toothed saw. They worked together to ease away the discomfort. Debilitation.

Side by side, Law's head pressing into the Phoenix's own, his breath easy with his own, Marco sent a lick of fire along Law's arm; around the thicker, puckered, paler skin where it had been amputated and reattached; into the grooves left by restraints; anywhere his limbs had been stretched, shackled, bound, beaten – anywhere movement had been restricted. The hoped-for result was to impede the impediments, transform friction to flux.

The first time Marco saw it was during a game of mahjong. Law reached to move a piece and then could shift his hand no further. Annoyance and an aftertaste of fear – maybe that Marco would finally beat him at a game he'd mastered long ago – crossed his face. He'd been relaxed, albeit occupied with strategy, up to that point.

The second time they'd been side by side, idly discussing the finer details of pirate life, when Law's unexpected quiet and then the dead weight on Marco's hip told him something had gone wrong.

The boundaries for intimacy were still under construction, so it didn't help things the time after that when Law, giving Marco a handjob, swore under his breath and suddenly stopped with a shudder of pain. And it had promised rapture. He was that fucking good.

At that time, once he'd resigned himself to the fact that another thing blue between them were his balls, Marco had taken Law's arm. Law couldn't even curl his fingers into his hand's grip. Marco had needed to lift the limb from across his groin.

A tentative flicker sent from the Whitebeard pirate, flames encasing skin, allowed the Heart to start up a Room, and to work on loosening the muscles into mobility.

When he could, Law stood, apologetic, annoyed, angry, embarrassed. Not at Marco. At himself. But not solely at himself. How had he let himself get captured? How could they have bound him for so long? With such fucking disregard? Some idle pastime for them. Some bibelot for their collection. Who objectified him the most? Those fuckers, or himself?

In such a desensitised state, other fucked-up things, people, had screwed him up. Literally. And now he could not see straight.

Marco's arms wrapped around his waist. Law froze. His mouth worked perfectly fine. Did Marco want him to finish some other way? For a second he waited for the huge palm behind his neck, pushing his head down. _You know what to do,_ _na, Law_?

But the Phoenix pulled him to the bed beside him instead, and not onto his lap. This dead arm couldn't even pick up his nodachi – one of his matchsticks – though he had minimal mobility now.

They sat on the edge of the mattress. Marco had drawn up the waist of his cut-offs, redressed himself. He kept an arm around Law, and if Law had his full motor skills, he would have shrugged him off.

"Hey. Things happen, it's okay. Another time," Marco said to the tenseness, his lips in Law's hair.

Law swallowed. What could he know about Vergo's grip, his body behind him? This embrace now was casual, Law told himself. Vergo's grip always held challenge; ownership, expected obeisance, wilful ignorance. This touch, it wasn't the same.

"Let me try something." Marco dropped his hold and picked up Law's almost useless arm. "I'll run the flame over you for just a bit longer, then build a Room. We'll work together."

Law looked down. His heart was beating stupidly fast. Fear.

"I think it's permanently damaged." They'd restrained him so much it had trouble healing.

"Light up your room, Law. I'll work within it. Let's see what we can do."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

After the battle — Benn and Shanks and the crews celebrating, the marines dispatched, Lucky Roo eating another huge drumstick of chicken somewhere, fully recovered — Marco wanted to see Law's arm. Now that they'd done this a number of times, Marco asking nothing more than their relationship allow him a closeness not accessible to others and, both understanding there were limits to that, Law let him check. It was still a lot to give, but they had to let the other in somewhere.

Law trusted this process now, and had regained some of the dexterity he'd lost since the captivity. True, he could still use his fruit mostly no problem, but there were times when it faltered, when everything seized up, like it had on deck.

Of course that was more than problematic in battle, but, more so, what if it happened in the middle of a surgery? A surgery on the scale of the operations that Luffy and Jimbei had undergone, or if he were in the midst of dismembering and reassembling a group of people like the kids on Punk Hazard? If he lost access to the restorative or attack functions of his power, his moniker might end up more than just a government ploy.

They sat in a small room, hands together, and Marco encircled the scar on Law's upper arm with a ring of blue fire, again – within Law's dome of blue – and they both used their skills to try to isolate and put together the nerve endings that just weren't on good terms with one another.

It was peaceful. Marco loved that Law rested against him, not a tense muscle, other than the ones they were working on. He knew part of it was just how much effort it took to use and sustain his energy, and Shanks _had_ thrown him against a wall, but it also showed just how far they'd come, were coming along. His lips brushed the top of Law's head where it now rested lightly on his shoulder, but were his eyes closing? No, they had to work on this together.

"Five things, Law. Blue."

Law opened his eyes to the two devil fruits intersecting, crossing from violet-infused to green through spectrums of blue. Any fruit-user and pirate worth their salt knew the layers of the sea. "North, South, East, West, Grand Line." Marco's flame was afire within Law's room, healing, not harming, as was its purpose.

Law's gaze flicked over the prisms, the light show, their own aurora. At that intersection, _there_ , the blue of snow, hardened by ice.

Closer to the floor, south, Franky's aqua pompadour. The waters were incredible there. When his crew could watch his back he'd wade in the shallow depths.

East, Sanji's desire, burning with determination. His displaced geographical compatriot.

West, the tint of night that shone through Robin's hair as it did his own.

Then the Grand Line surrounded by the calm belts, like the man next to him who wanted to see this arm working without hindrance, and not just because he benefitted in bed. Or maybe that was a reason, but it wasn't a demand, a definition. The Calm Belt was stagnant and Marco was anything but, but he was composed, unruffled. No-one could dispute it.

.

"Four," Law breathed, his lips against Marco's cheek. He was tired, damn it.

Marco reached across and rumpled Law's hair. "This mess. Always think it's soft as floss, and it's as rough as fuck, and shot through with midnight."

Law laughed, exhausted. They were on the same page. Marco gripped his hand tighter. "Feel that?"

"Mmm."

Good, the Phoenix thought. He hadn't lost circulation then. He turned Law's face, and kissed him lightly on the lips and lifted his hand to his own lips, then lowered it to his lap. "These and these are a little too blue for my liking."

"It's just the reflection," Law murmured. He'd resisted the urge to slip his tongue between Marco's lips. When he was tired like this, it was defence. Capitulation to encourage gentle abuse rather than brutal. To fold to their wants. "Yours are blue too."

Marco looked down, and Law was right. He ran a hand down and along the doctor's thighs, knowing he shouldn't distract him from the therapeutic process too much.

"These crazy-arsed jeans."

"What's wrong with them?"

"They're like a seal's skin."

"You seen any blue seals?"

"I don't know the colour of seals in the North Blue." He thought of Jimbei, not that he was a seal, but that was some shade of blue.

Law just curled his fingers slightly to indicate he was regaining capability. "True. The water is icy cold. They're blue from freezing half to death."

"You're making that up."

"Tshh."

Marco smiled. "That a happy sound?"

"It's not unhappy. Most don't make it past twenty-five."

Law enjoyed The Phoenix's laugh. Liked him right there, to his side.

.

"Okay, you capricious, tenacious, laggard, three things."

Law wondered why he wasn't the one helping Benn with his crosswords.

"Ocean."

They could hear it today. Or the designators. Seagulls, waves against the hull, Men falling in the water. Just as well Shanks and Benn were incredibly powerful without fruits.

Law turned to Marco, and with his better hand, first grabbed Marco's sash and rubbed the cloth between his thumb and forefinger, a soft cotton. Then placed his hand over the tattoo near his heart.

"Sash. Heart."

Marco looked down. What was Law playing at now?

"Mawkish much? How do you hear blue from my sash?"

Law thumbed the cloth again. A quiet rub of fabric against flesh.

"Heart?"

"This close to someone, hear everything."

Law's smile was worn at the edges, but he wasn't gearing up to do a runner.

Marco held him a little tighter.

"How's my heart blue?"

"Tattoos." Law pressed into the area again, covered by one of Whitebeard's tusks, inked in indigo.

.

"Smell?" Law asked.

"You're never far from pungent."

"Why does it always cycle back to my personal hygiene with smell?"

"Just like your voice. You're all corrugated iron, rust, sweat and heat."

"Thought I was cool as a cucumber."

"That too, but," and Marco kissed Law at his Adam's apple, on the side of the neck, "Your voice melts things."

"Inflames?"

"Makes them all hot and bothered. And, because of that I'm never that far from being a bit whiffy myself." He guessed that made two and met the requirements of the task.

Law felt his eyelids closing again as he found himself still against the Phoenix's chest, finding comfort in the pungency. It sure beat losing your powers on a crumbling bridge in Green Bit, Doflamingo shooting bullet strings at you. The Zoan withdrew his power, Law his Room, and the only thing now joining them was their own flesh. He worked his arms to hold Law upright.

.

"Your turn. One thing."

Law looked at him, fighting sleep. Vulnerable again for a second. Grey eyes flickering. It would be so easy to lock lips and trade the taste of the other as payoff for grounding, except Law didn't think it would ground him.

Marco read a fleeting panic and wasn't sure what it was about, except that Law never got upset over trifles.

"Later's okay, sunshine. Can you move?"

"Not much."

"Want me to leave?"

Law nodded.

"Can I put you to bed?"

"Yeah, but . . ."

"I'm not them, Law."

Again, the Heart pirate nodded weakly against him. His hand was again on Marco's sash. He knew Marco understood what it felt like to be grasped by unwanted appendages at least. Eight of them, forty-eight knees.

Occasional murder still killed. Occasional restriction of freedom still caused fear of captivity. Especially when you couldn't save those you loved. But for some it was easier to shake off falling once as an anomaly, rather than leading to the triggering routine of systematic brutalisation.

"I know." His voice a quiet thing. He did know. Feeling it was different. And did he know? "Just tell me what you're doing."

"Okay. You lie down, I'll put a blanket over you, give you a farewell peck like a powdered great auntie, walk to the door, open it, walk out, and close it."

Law did as instructed.

Marco, as he said he would, threw a blanket over the spent Heart Captain, sat on the side of the bed and grazed Law's cheek with his fingers only, not his lips, noticing the flinch Law tried to suppress. "I'm not them."

He stood, wondering at the lack of reply, walked across the room, and left. None of them had infinite reserves of power, and Law could sustain his for a good while, but once they powered down, they went from functioning to empty in a hurry.

Maybe there was nothing in the back-up tank, and the lack of response was just a sleepy pirate who needed to recuperate, and everything would be fine. And once he had, maybe he'd realise he'd fallen asleep on Marco's bed and not his own.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Law had slipped out by the time Marco returned a good many hours later. He'd left a note inviting him to his own cabin that evening. That could mean absolutely anything with Law, and Marco didn't bank on it being carnal, though it wasn't out of the question, but there were still a lot of demons to bypass before they consistently got anywhere.

.

The blue of a Room bathed Law's cabin when he entered after knocking.

"Is it safe?" Marco had brought a bottle of rotgut, and he left it on the side table.

"For whom?"

Marco lit himself up in a light flame. "That reply doesn't fill me with confidence."

Law stood, walked to the door, grabbed the edges of Marco's jacket through the fire, tipped his head and kissed the Phoenix, open-mouthed and with appetite.

Once they drew away from one another, Marco pushed him away a little with his fingertips.

"Yet I have to ask permission?"

Law tilted his gaze. "Not always. Not even often, really."

Marco knew he was right, and cupped the back of Law's head pulling him near once again.

It seemed to be Law in response. Autonomous Law. Marco loved this guy. The Whitebeard's hands were strong against the Heart captain's hips and lower back.

Law moved back. His room was still up. "Do you trust me?"

"Hmm. Nine times out of ten."

"Well this is one of those nine." Happy at that strike rate, Law sat Marco at the small table where they'd shared rum and possibilities about six months before.

"I'm going to increase the myelin in your brain for a short while. It's reversible. I've done the same for myself."

Marco baulked. His flames were still at a low ember. "Hold on. You're going to do what to what?"

Law's grin was clever, but not calculating.

"Taste. Synaesthesia. People who have this usually associate sound with colour, but some associate actions, smells, words even, with both taste and colour. It wouldn't surprise me if Sanji had some form of this, and might explain his wish to see All Blue."

"Mmm," Marco indicated that Law should sit in the chair nearby. "What's that got to do with us?"

"If you could taste our power working together, if you could taste the stars clustered above."

Law was almost animated.

"What's wrong with a kiss? You taste pretty good."

Law had a knife. Not always a good thing. Just a bread and butter number from the looks of things that he was casually twisting between his fingers.

"I've tested it on myself. The more myelin you have, the faster your neurons communicate, and the more real a situation seems."

"You're adapted like that now?"

Law shook his head. "No. too dangerous to have us both altered at the same time."

"There's some danger?"

"Not much, but if my hand seizes. If my neurons decide to communicate about incapacitating things. You'll be in my Room. Few things remain altered in perpetuum."

"You mean dead."

"That too." Law had poured them both a drink and knocked his back with a wide, happy maw.

"For you. I'll do it for you."

"For you, Phoenix." Law said. "It's almost healed." He placed a hand over the scar on his arm. How many years had passed? He'd thought this disability, and others, were permanent.

"Can I keep up my flames?"

"Best you drop them. Not sure how they'll affect the process."

Marco nodded, and they subsided.

"Keep me in the Room, okay?"

"I promise. We'll kick in your powers once the procedure is finished."

They'd worked hard on healing, and Law had slept, so no sudden seizures were likely.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Benn and Shanks looked across at Law and Marco on the deck, both encased in Law's blue dome and the Phoenix's fire for some reason, both staring out to sea. Marco sought Law's spare hand, and the doctor didn't pull away. Marco waved his other hand in front of his face. Spheres and nanometres of colour, various shades of blue, all flying between them. He kept touching his lips. Laughter. Intimate, raucous, giggling school boy sniggers between them.

"You think Law's fed him coke?"

"The cocaine type?"

Benn nodded.

Shanks considered it. The world around the two definitely held wonder. "Nah, too calm. Maybe something trippy. Looks like they're rolling with the ocean sprites."

"You think they can see them?"

"Fruit users are a strange bunch."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Law returned Marco's neurons to their usual state before his ability powered down, but still high, they lay together on Law's bed. The Phoenix's arms wrapped tightly around his magical partner, and he felt none of the tenseness from before. He understood why Law wouldn't want to keep that ability. As stimulating as it was, he imagined the opposite. Knew that Law already had trouble with sensory recall. Had tasted just a second of it when he'd noted those needle marks around Law's lips.

He was flexible, Law, coiled around him.

"That was hell of a one thing," Marco said.

"A rose by any other name would taste as sweet."

"Smell."

"But we were doing taste."

Marco pushed Law's hair away from his brow. "Calling yourself a flower now?"

"A delicate pansy."

"More like a cactus that rarely blossoms."

He hooked his hands behind his neck. Law sat on top of him, straddled him.

"That was amazing, kid. I want to taste your kisses in that state."

Law leant down and he started on the side of Marco's mouth, a quiet butterfly of his lips.

Marco turned his head toward him so that avoiding direct contact was an impossibility. Law threaded his hands through Marco's spiky hair, and kissed the other corner of his lips, which parted slightly, and then the lower lip, using his teeth minimally to tease it open, tongues meeting.

And then it was fine to taste and compare tastes, this one thing. Law's kisses flavoured with rum, as much as Marco expected his own were. Law didn't fire up the myelin exchange again, but that was fine, because very few things compared to the opening up of this death-encrusted bastard; could compare to the gold sluicing through the slate of his eyes, sparking the Phoenix's skin.

 **oOOo**

He'd heard Pedro the Mink had called his crew the Nox pirates, known in some areas as Nyx. Nyx, one of the ancients, brought the world into being, and took it out, through the darkening and lightening of the sky. She existed in its dusky, gradated plains.

And like that phenomenon, the very nectar Law imbibed to bring Marco into wholeness was the resistance and drag of earth and soil cracked and watered to deprive moisture and loosen habitat into gulfs and crevices and fissures and slides that promised lakes, rivers and the sea.

Drowning or dehydrated, this man had hitched a ride with decay on so many occasions that sleeping with him was an act of pure fuck-you-survival, rebirth, confirmation. Law was terrifying — his arched back driving home the inevitable fall of a bloom at its pinnacle — such a shade of night — that Marco couldn't help but dig his fingers into his skin, hoping to waylay its demise.

The Heart leant down, elbows pushed into the pillow, either side of Marco's face, as he gripped the blond's hair and stared him down, the Phoenix pushing up into him, Law rocking over him, willing him to go on, allowing him to. Some stamina required, it wasn't an easy position, Marco already coated with Law's seed, breath a commodity between them.

Law ground down until the convergence of his fate line with the heart was guaranteed and, for a second, pleasure masking the frantic pursuit of the same imbued both pirates with a sense of grace and the divine. Chasing breath already expelled, neither let the other go.

No matter how many tea-towels collected, matchsticks spliced, Marco knew that sleeping with his Nana could destroy him. Handled right, it both gave and took away. Mishandled, it only took. Who feared Law so much they depleted him of all he had, not all he had to give, and disguised their weakness as desire, as hate, as their due?

Law was not supernatural. Abuse crippled him, but the poison secreting into the veins of Law's torturers as they denied access to equity, identity, had to be something else. How had he managed to maintain his rough and shaky version of good?

Law eased himself off Marco, and cleaned the both of them, as he liked to do, as training dictated, with nearby towels, and then he lay on his chest, hands under his chin, words rumbling through the Whitebeard as he spoke of things only ever mentioned within the resetting of log poses. Gone and gone and gone and gone. Oyaji, Ace, Law's childhood, Marco's own. Present: Law. Present: Marco. The pirate's body fit so well against his own.

.

Five: Ink, muscle, eyes, chests, hollows.

Four: Skin, sheets, towels, (sweat, semen, steam)

Three: Laughter, thanks, wonder

Two: _Pungent —_ the two of them — stank to high heaven.

One:

* * *

 **A/N** : About ten more chapters to go on this.

I know I'm a bit early time-wise with Law's tea-towel collecting, as he doesn't pick it up until after Doflamingo's demise in _Repossession._ That line might change. He's in full-flight with the matchsticks though, I just want to work in the nickname.

I hope it's coming together. This chapter ties back into chapter eight and chapter eleven of this fic, where Law slices off Shanks' arm (accidentally), and Marco and Law experience the myelin incident part 5.


	26. Emperor's New Clothes - Law, Shanks

**Chapter twenty-six - The Emperor's New Clothes**

* * *

"You don't understand, Law. Not that arm."

Law scratched at the back of his head, and adjusted his glasses. He'd thrown on his lab coat and strung a stethoscope around his neck because he wasn't feeling very doctorly and pretend was good enough. The night with Marco had ended well, for both of them, but business went on as usual. That meant keeping visiting hours in amongst all the murdering, mauling, and mayhem.

What did Shanks want?

"You've got a splinter under the nail of the hand of the arm you no longer own?"

Folks thought it was all glamour and respect, being a surgeon, and not just any surgeon, but the Surgeon of Impending Doom, of the Final Curtain, of That's it, Honey: I've Swapped out Aspiration with Expiration.

But it really was doling out aspirin, peeling back and applying Band-Aids, and patting dullards on their pointy heads. _There-there. Your mother really did love you_. He wasn't so good at that. That's what his crew were for. It _was_ a lot less stressful than torturing Doflamingo's hapless victims.

Shanks nodded. Had he been speaking in tongues?

"Well, I think there should be some duty of care. You're the one who sliced it off after all." He scoured the infirmary for Law's nightie, though he guessed he'd leave that in his room, or Marco's. Maybe even the sub.

Law's hand dropped from the back of his head to pull at the hard cartilage of his ear. "Yeah, sorry, but I - - "

He caught himself.

"A sea king took that, Shanks. When you rescued Luffy."

He removed his glasses, placed them on the table, mentally reminding himself to put them in their case later. Playing around with someone's myelin took it out of you. Or maybe it was the aftercare. His routine was out of whack.

"And the trauma of having it amputated yesterday brought the horrors of that event crashing in like a flying fish into a human auction house."

Law wasn't surprised that Shanks had heard about Luffy's feats at Sabaody. He sat across from him, and reached over the table to the sugar canister. He drew a jug of water near, poured a glass, tipping in a spoonful or two of sugar, and stirred. Every good doctor had a few condiments at the ready.

"So, not only are you experiencing phantom splinters, you're in shock."

"Catatonic."

Law pushed the water his way. "Drink this."

Shanks eyed it as if it were lukewarm water with sugar stirred into it. "Got anything harder?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Is Jimbei blue?" Shanks picked up the glass and took a sip. "Disgusting."

"It will help with the shock." Though if Law thought on it, the water should be a bit warmer, but it wasn't as if he'd chilled it.

"You taking responsibility will help with that."

Shanks looked so earnest, but that was how he governed best. Inflicting chaos and good-naturedly sidestepping duty.

"How's your arm now?" Law felt some guilt, although he wasn't responsible, except maybe, as Shanks implied, indirectly, for the twinges the yonkou felt at the moment.

These old school pirates. Silvers Rayleigh swimming across the Calm Belt and beating up sea kings to take Luffy under his wing on Amazon Lily. This guy, losing a limb but not a life to one. Again, for Luffy. The things they did for that kid, him included. He doubted twinges could lay Red-Hair low. He reflected on that other Calm Belt, the one breached last night.

"Which one?"

"Huh?" Law refocused and took in Shanks looking down at one of his shoulders and then the next.

"Which arm are you asking about?"

"The invisible one."

"Shouldn't you be more concerned with the one you severed yesterday?"

Law leant across and picked up Shanks' sugar water, drank, pulled a face. "They tell us to humour our patients. How is it?"

"What?"

"The arm I reattached?"

"Oh, good as gold. Benn wasn't complaining this morning, if you know what I mean?" Shanks leered. _Leered_.

"Why _are_ you here?"

He did play the role of listening to the woes and whims of pirates' outs and ins with foes, friends and fuckbuddies. As with everything, aspirin, a plaster, an admonition to remain hydrated. If it was a mental health day, he'd have Bepo on hand. He could barely handle his own torment let alone others. Unless it was serious, and it rarely was.

"Jimbei _is_ blue."

Law nodded. Did that flicky thing with his hand, landed a bottle on the table, and poured them both a shot of rum from requisitioned marine stock. He eyed the tumblers in front of him, the table surface more like a saloon than a consulting area.

Shanks' face lit. "Are you hiding ill-gotten gains from your captain?" He pulled the new glass greedily toward him and swallowed a mouthful. It sure beat the lolly-water.

"You're not my captain."

"You need my protection."

Law swirled his rum, a sour bite on his tongue. It had been six months since Vergo and Doflamingo visited, and Law knew that certain members of both the Whitebeards and Red Hairs thought life would be easier if Shanks withdrew his protection. Others, knowing Law's background now, felt that ownership transferred, felt that it should transfer.

The less generous were never really sure why Law had such a favoured position, ignoring the work he did as a doctor, warrior and leader. Ignoring the ex-slaves in their own ranks. Because of his association with Doflamingo, and the propaganda the navy constantly fed the authorities, his motives and person were questioned in a way Marco's never were.

Shanks had to be, or should be getting something out of it, right? Law had been in pretty bad shape when he'd first started sailing with them, and look at him now. Sleek coat, good teeth, healthy gums. He owed Shanks something, right?

"I do need it," Law said placing the glass on the table and spreading his hands before him, his eyes narrowed. He wondered what the price would be. The Polar Tang was just there. He'd get the crew ready to leave as soon as he could. Face stiff, but trying not to jump to conclusions, he flicked his hand again and put a full bottle in front of Shanks. Two bottles sat on the table.

Shanks craned his neck in the direction he thought it had come from. Where there was one there were another nine. He _knew_ it. Trafalgar _did_ keep some of the hard stuff in here, despite his objections.

The air in the infirmary had shifted from a hazy acceptance to the edge of brittle; Law's amusement into something remote. The Heart captain had him in his sights, leaning back in his chair, nail stubs scraping stubble. Shanks pushed the bottle across the table.

"Ah, keep it, kid, for the next time we have a party on your dime."

Law smiled slightly, dropped his hand and studied the back of both of them again. He didn't reach for the bottle. The cost was going to be higher then. He didn't want an enemy in the yonkou.

"What do I owe you, Shanks? What's the price for shelter?" He asked his hands. The table.

Shanks startled, but he had brought it up. With the party, he'd forgotten about the young marine the day before, and how scandalised Yassop was at the details on Law's bounty poster. How the toxicity from the Don Quixote visit caused the coating of the ship to strip and bubble, and Law must still be decompressing. One didn't lose those words easily.

"Shit, sorry, Law. Should have been more careful with my phrasing."

Law looked across at him, unsure, but they'd had a good relationship up to now. Then again, Doflamingo and Law's own wrecked self hadn't served up his secrets to be inspected and assessed for degustation before. All of them. What the fuck. Or more than he was comfortable with. Unpalatable was the verdict.

It took time for the secondary revulsion to filter down, for the inkstick to grind into the inkstone, colouring fingers and thoughts with soot. He knew. He resumed observing the contours of his hands.

"You've paid me back a thousand times over for any protection I can give, and anything you're doing now is enough."

Law toyed with the stethoscope. Put one end lazily to his ear before dropping it.

"You know that," Shanks said.

Law looked at him again more directly. Why _was_ he here? He found his case near the yonkou and folded his glasses into it. Suddenly Shanks bristled with eagerness and Law almost felt a Luffy attack looming. He glanced across, wary.

"Benn and I were just curious. Jimbei _is_ blue, and that was quite the show you and Marco put on last night."

Law coughed. Did that mean Shanks was drunk? He took another nip of alcohol, Shanks still in his line of vision.

"All those blues. You got Benn pining for a bit of romance."

A small tug at the corner of the Heart captain's mouth. He put the tumbler on the table. "He's the romantic one?"

Shanks shrugged. A lopsided gesture. "We take turns."

"And?"

"We know you've got booze hidden away, and your crew's a bunch of blabbermouths, so don't expect it to be safe."

Law grinned. Shanks had a point. His crew was sneaky. They knew where he hid contraband even if he didn't tell them. The fact his supply on the sub didn't diminish – as far as he knew – had more to do with their loyalty than his powers of stealth against their own. Even Bepo could channel his inner-ninja at times.

"So I've been tasked with finding out if you really _do_ have a flannel nightie."

Law hacked out what could be defined as a laugh finishing with a weak surge of relief. "Jesus, and I thought you were going to ask me to go down on you or something." His eyes hardened, and he pranced his death notes across the table.

"You don't want me to wear it?"

Shanks smiled again, slight concern in his eyes. If Law thought the tattoos on his fingers were menacing to him, he had the wrong guy. But he knew the doctor well enough to realise any intention behind the action, at least when talking to him, was unconscious.

"It exists?"

Law shook his head. But he wasn't telling.

"Law. You're safe. Really. Tariffs and chores, planning and stitching, fighting – all legit exchanges – are all that Benn or I would ever ask. Some of that A-grade sake. You're free to come and go." Law had to know it. "We're not your masters and never will be."

Shanks' hair stood out as bright as the man himself. Law was like the sudden dip on the ocean floor, hidden currents that could pull you under. His power was quieter than Shanks' kinetic energy – energy forceful enough to stop a war.

"I have no desire to act at that level of fucked-up. Who can ever call himself a captain and abuse power so badly?"

Law knew he had to keep himself in check at times, but the eddies usually flowed inwards. Not always though. Wasn't pursuit of power why half the captains were captains?

"But Benn thought you might have some idea about what kind of lingerie would suit me?"

Shanks didn't look the slightest bit sheepish. Well, maybe a touch. A bit of red on his cheeks, the tips of his ears – but maybe that was the booze. Mostly just looked pleased at himself for unstitching conventions.

"And I'd be the one to ask because I - - ?"

"Because you told Marco you had a flannel nightie last night." Shanks lay his hand flat. "That's all."

Law released another exhalation of relief. Shanks chose to take it as exasperation.

"I know, I know. Izou's the better man to ask, but we were just so damned curious."

Law's eyes glinted. "Would you really?"

Shanks laughed and poured himself another drink. "Oh, we like to spice things up at times, Mr. Vanilla."

Law took it as a compliment.

"Even your kinks are of the crocheting variety."

"Damn right," Law spoke under his breath, meeting his thumb and forefinger around a wrist. He'd have to look into crochet. Maybe he could make a new penguin for his first mate's cap.

"My arm's okay, Law."

The doctor's expression let Shanks know he wanted a better definition.

"Both of them."

Law nodded.

"Things are okay with Marco?"

Law nodded again. Sharply. Everyone was always all up in his business.

"No more matchstick splicing?"

Law tipped his head. He wasn't sure about that. His works in progress were still works in progress.

"Look, it's healthier than slicing someone's throat, but Benn's taken to wandering around with two boxes in his pocket. Just take one of them, eh? When you're scavenging for matches. For a smoker, having that packet, it's a safety blanket, and if Benn can't light his cig he's a bear with a sore head, and guess who pays?"

Law's nod was quick. He understood, though they _were_ blocking his artistic endeavours with their bad habits. But their bad habits also enabled it. Wasn't there any leeway for deranged maestros on this ship?

He unscrewed the cap to the rum and topped up his drink. Surprisingly, Shanks had not downed his in one go. "Benn manage with the crossword this morning?"

Shanks shook his head, sighed dramatically. "It's no good when you're not there, Law, and then he discovered his matches were missing."

"How many couldn't he get? Two vowels of one word? A consonant of another? He's not grizzly at you. He's salty at me for slicing you up."

"Could be, but guess who weathers that? And he's not you know. But the matches, that's another thing. And just one clue he couldn't crack."

Shanks observed Law's nodachi in the corner of the infirmary, and realised he'd left his own sabre in his quarters. He patted his hip to confirm before he lifted his drink again. He'd last seen the nodachi in Law's hand as he and Marco had left the deck the night before. "Because of you I have to deliver a hundred red roses on our fiftieth anniversary."

"Can't be too far away."

"Cheeky."

"Because of me?"

Shanks lowered the glass. "He got all teary at you two being infused in blue and shit. Liked the way you took care of each other."

"I owed Marco."

"Seems he gave a lot to you too."

Law agreed.

"But really, I think he – we – just got a bit excited at the thought of you in a nightie."

Law rolled his eyes. "A flannel nightie. The kind that Bepo's grandmother might wear."

"So it exists? Does it have ruffles on the neck, wrists and a valance skirt, your ankles peeking out from below?" Shanks' gaze dipped to Law's boots. The perversion of Victorian modesty.

Law's eyes slit to the side in denial. His smile, Cheshire.

"I just imagine myself in situations that Doflamingo would find so totally unappealing and abnormal. It's a defence against being hyper-sexualised."

"Hyper what?"

"I'm not talking engorgement."

Disappointment washed over Shanks' face.

"Well, if you ever want an objective opinion on whether the folds and frills are unflattering enough, we're your guys."

"You propositioning me?" Law guessed it was something positive. Because they were in a position of power to just try and take. He leaned across the table a tad. "No valance. Plain neck. Wrists are a little frilled." He flicked a finger under the sleeve of his own shirt in demonstration. He was purring. "A little gap to show off my manly chest hair. And my ankles. If you're lucky."

"You don't shave for the tatts?"

Law pulled his lab coat together over his front in a show of effrontery, all the while keeping eye contact. Somehow the demure, casual action intimated invitation when mixed with Law's lethal, stained fingers and hands. He knew what he was doing, the brat.

"Only Bepo sees me in that outfit." His glance left Shanks uncertain again whether the item was mythical or not.

"Bestiality?"

"Fuck, no." Law dropped his grip. "He's my best friend. What's wrong with you two?"

Shanks looked hopeful.

Law shook his head. "Also, he's a Mink." He counted off on his fingers. "I don't fuck my crew. I don't fuck animals, and I don't fuck yonkous and their flannel-obsessed partners. No matter how good they are at cryptic crosswords - - though that _is_ really sexy."

"Flannel?"

"Cryptic crosswords."

"He's mine."

Law laughed and pushed the full bottle of booze back across the table to Shanks. "Then go take care of him, and stop putting ideas in my head."

"You're the one who brought up the nightie."

"To Marco. Eavesdropper."

"How else are we going to know where you hide the booze?"

Law shambled another bottle out and warned Shanks that this form of blackmail wouldn't work again, and that the emperor would probably look good in a corset and garters ensemble. Not that he'd know, any experience with cross-dressing having been for the pleasure of others at his own expense, but if Shanks wanted to experiment, then go for it, but leave him the hell out of it.

"You think Marco gives better advice?"

"You're _not_ getting another bottle."

Shanks rose from his chair, tucked one rum into his cummerbund and the other in the nook of his arm. He couldn't salute Law while gripping the bottle, but he acknowledged him with a sharp wave.

"You're doing okay, Trafalgar."

It wasn't a question.

* * *

 **A/N: Here** y'all go. This fic won't ever much feedback, so I'll upload the remaining chapters. Hope those reading enjoy. August 5, 2018. If there are any massive bloopers, I'll try to come back and fix them.


	27. Tattered & Torn, Marco, Law, Red Force

**Warnings** : Very light warnings for a few sentences of remembered imprisonment/abuse, not explicit. Found in between the fourth and fifth oOOo break. This is **not** a dark chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-seven: This is the Man All Tattered and Torn (Red Force)**

* * *

Marco realised after matchstick model three that Law wasn't going to clamber over him in rabid lust, but neither was he going to smother him in traditional gestures of romance.

Law was good with his hands. And his words. When he could be enticed to speak. He didn't sulk like Ace over something he perceived Marco had or hadn't done. If he misinterpreted at times, or Marco miscommunicated, Law tried not to launch into flight, and Marco into denial. The doctor wasn't as open as Ace, but he tried. His moods lasted a lot longer and were harder to decipher, but he usually sat them out alone.

He wasn't that good at matchstick models either, or he was, but you had to be into abstraction to get it. He knew no different. Jora had been his tutor.

Marco liked off-kilter as much as the next uneven-keeled bastard (as long as they weren't the shipwright), but he was a whittler, a scrimshander. If he hadn't joined Whitebeard's crew, a rosy red heart defining and outlining his biceps, a banner crossing it spelling out _Mum_ in cursive, would be his tattoo of choice. Stabbed through with a knife of course, reflecting devotion. His mother had lived a hard life. Bless her soul.

Marco was a fairly simple man in some ways, but not unintelligent. When childhood enforced the company Law kept, he'd had empathy of sorts for Buffalo. Not that he knew to call it that. It was Law against them – Buffalo and Baby 5 – and the three of them against the bigger them, all vying to betray the other first, though ice cream worked towards buying allegiance. But, as an adult, he cherished being able to – for the most part – choose the company he kept. Marco could hold an interesting conversation.

The Whitebeard didn't wander to the hull seeking out his scattered and shattered surgeon often, but Law dragged him there on occasion. The first time was after the Lettuce Confession when Marco did good in cooking Law's benefactor's favourites, Praise Be to Bepo and Penguin (PBBP). It was after Law had not only spent the night in Marco's room, but Marco was the first to leave. He still wondered how he'd – they'd? – pulled that off, how everything converged, but wasn't going to inspect too closely in case he jinxed their progress.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"What is it?"

The Mink had said Law was uncomplicated and liked touch and was open and kind. Marco was beginning to see the ways in which the Heart captain was straightforward. He often needed intentions clearly stated, and Marco couldn't blame him for that.

He read situations better than most, but reading them in the past had made it clear that exits from hell were few and far between. Panic, more often than not, materialised as an aftertaste rather than forming at the time of trauma, when detachment served survival better. With the understanding and setting of boundaries, the closeness that many took for granted had a chance of also transpiring in Law's life.

He was funny too. Possibly insane. Bepo had forgotten to add those to the mix.

"Don't know." Law scratched at his chin. "Thought you could tell me."

"Seriously?"

Marco came up behind Law in their far-from-romantic hovel of a hull. Wet socks, sodden shoes, a walk home in monsoonal rain, no shelter in sight – the atmosphere was thick, cloying. Law couldn't have chosen a more dismal workspace. But just as Law's frenetic energy had crackled through the air when Marco found him, following Doflamingo's visit, that heaviness had no part of the man in front of him right now.

The place wasn't entirely dreary either – maybe ions were countered by Law's drive. Shanks had reported – that Nico Robin had reported – that she'd talked some sense into the Heart pirate when matchstick mania first struck. Despite that, he hadn't emerged until evening of that day.

"What do you think, Marco?" Law looked up. "Bats. Or stalactites? Hanging from the ceiling?"

"This is for me?" He hooked his head over Law's shoulder, his hands on the doctor's sides. The man was warm.

Law nodded.

"An expression of affection?"

"Caves are pretty." Law put a hand to the side of him and pinched Marco's skin lightly. "For helping out with the Family, the discussion." It had meant a lot.

He tuned into Marco's breath, regular against his cheek, the side of his face. His Room faintly lit the hull. Marco brought his arms to Law's chest and tightened them, just enough, in a way he noted Law hadn't rejected in the meeting two days before, when Shanks was trying to make sense of the stories Doflamingo had sprung on them. That Law had expanded on.

Softly-softly, but not too careful, or they'd get nowhere.

The matchsticks, not being the most malleable of materials, were segmented and sliced like rickety earthworms unfurling heavenly tenets. Beauty sure lay in the eye of the beholder.

"They look like slugs."

Law grimaced. "How so?" Marco's arm moved as Law tipped up the brim of his cap.

"Are you planning to have this as a feature wall or hanging mobile in some future home?"

"Rushing things there a bit, aren't you?"

"I didn't say it was shared."

Law laughed. He wanted Marco. But everything was so perforated – physically and mentally. Meshed up. Marco had said he'd wait. For what, Law wasn't sure. Sex wasn't the issue. Intimacy was. One led to the other, unless he cut off all feeling except the most primal. That was an option, but not one that sustained him.

Marco's breath, so anchored.

Law peered into the gloom beyond the light of his power. Why this closet-sized corner of the ship? Why this? Because the skeletons inside clanked about with familiarity? Sometimes easier to hide with them than to have them all tumble out. Brook could give him some pointers. Could be he chose the area to prove to himself he knew how to open the door and exit.

It had been a good morning, though. The night had turned out well.

He faced Marco, and the Phoenix saw promise and an easy acceptance that this installation wasn't the success last night's dinner had been. Law couldn't win them all.

"True. Why would the ungodly recognise the divine?"

And even while turning to him, Law twirled his fingers so the matches reassembled and flew into boxes he kept on a bench to the side. When finished, his hands dipped into the waist of Marco's cut-offs and the Phoenix's hips were close to his own.

"At least my adopted father didn't try to off me."

"Below the belt," Law whispered into Marco's mouth, his arm climbing his spine, and the Phoenix pushed back into his fingers and returned the kiss. Law's clothes were still spiked with minute splinters. Marco nudged his cap. Law's hair, dusty. Just as well he'd taken off the jacket he'd accidentally put on that morning.

He held Law's head between his hands, the cap shadowing grey. "We're going to play out our courtship in the most uncomfortable place of your choosing?"

Law rested into one of the palms, a kiss, a tip of his tongue. "I'm kind of used to it. Apart from the choice bit." He shook his head from Marco's hold, and felt the inside lining of his purple jacket. Sheepskin? Cashmere? "Courtship, huh?"

"You told me you were the old-fashioned type last night." He tipped Law's chin. "And, no." A soft kiss to his lips. "Sex in a cell?" Law's unsure gaze. "Never again. You'll never have to do that again."

The words of an optimist. Law ached to believe him, taking note that the graze Marco brushed had been inflicted directly outside a cell. It was and wasn't about location.

He fired up a Room and they found themselves on Law's unmade bed in his otherwise neat quarters.

.

"You were adopted?" Law asked Marco, pulling a pillow out from under him.

Marco untied his sandals, the doctor kicked off his shoes, and they scrabbled back on the mattress.

"No. _You're_ kinda adopted. Doflamingo took you in. My scumbag father was biological."

"If we're going to leave dungeons out of this relationship, let's absent our less than competent guardians too, whether they tried to kill us or not."

"Deal."

"Except for Cora," Law said, crawling over him. "Incompetent, but kind. Saved my life."

Bepo hadn't said he was funny, but he had his quirks. He was definitely direct at the moment. He tugged at Marco's sash.

"Don't I get any say in this? I thought you were all recoiled and untouchable." How far was this evening likely to go?

"Just like a Venus Fly Trap."

Marco thought about that, and helped Law unwrap the sash, pausing to admire the forearm tatts.

"No. Like, jittery and high-strung. You know, I brush your skin, you scoot away, quaking in fright. Or is it anger?" Marco unbuttoned the Heart pirate's shirt. "Not someone who ensnares me and tries to eat me."

Law had said, though obviously walking the corridors of shock after Doflamingo and Vergo shat all over the Red Force, that it'd be some time before he'd be ready to go down - giving head fell victim to the pinprick paralysis of his psyche. Collateral damage. He'd mentioned this just a few days before, when he'd been warm toward Marco, but warned of distance. The following day, he and his nodachi and matchsticks shucked off any comfort, fled the chaste bed they'd shared, and poured into every rational space in the hull like seething foundry metals, wanting Marco the fuck out of there.

Yet, he'd been between his legs, eyes locked to his own, not too long after the Polar Tang had docked to the side of Shanks' ship, after Marco had rifled through all of Penguin's recipes. Though they _had_ almost lost him to PTSD.

Law gave what he could, but neither of them were one-hundred percent sure what form that came in. Straightforward was a matter of perspective.

"I am -," Law smiled, let Marco undo the shirt, and slipped it off, "- a very reserved man." He ran his hands up his chest tattoo, looking down at the back of them before throwing a glance Marco's way. "All reticent and reactive, like a snail's antennae. You should take advantage when I'm not."

He wasn't joking.

"Which fucker's taking advantage of which?" Marco had to think beyond the things that voice did to him, especially when his fingers pressed into Law's articulated flesh and bone. He knew there was truth in the Heart pirate's words.

"Don't worry," Law took Marco's earlobe in his mouth, "You have to stimulate me five times before I contemplate devouring you. Did you know that? About the Venus Fly Trap? Now's your chance to escape."

Maybe Bepo was blinded. Puzzling, Law was puzzling, but not manipulative. Not with him. With a sound more guttural than chill, Marco wrapped his arms around the Heart, and took them to the mattress. This time Law turned his back to Marco and the Whitebeard spooned the splintery bastard.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"Why do your hobby in the dungeon?" Marco could take him, lying in the doctor's bed, Law in his arms, he knew he could take him, but he'd lose him. He pushed the thought away.

"It's artistic expression, not a hobby."

He'd get Law to have a shower before they turned in for the night. All that dust was a little close for comfort.

"Okay. What are your hobbies?"

"Collecting and preserving organs in formaldehyde."

One way to dampen desire.

"Coins. This and that. Wandering."

"You're shackled to this ship and you love wandering?"

"I could leave."

"You could." But Marco held him a little tighter. Neither wanted Law recaptured, tortured. He wouldn't make it. If the marines got him, at least execution would be the end goal.

"It won't be forever. Nothing ever is." Death always provided a way out of a fucked up situation, worst comes to worst. He relaxed into Marco's folds.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"Make your models in here." They were in Law's quarters again. Marco had grown familiar with this room and the infirmary. Even the hull wasn't freaking him out quite as much as it did. He'd struck up a nodding acquaintance with the spiders in the corners.

"Don't want anyone stealing my ideas."

"Who comes to your cabin? Apart from me, pirate? Your nakama? Benn, Shanks?" He ran a thumb along Law's face, they were sitting again on the mattress, side by side.

"The crews make house calls."

Marco lifted an eyebrow.

"Nothing like that. There's always a ripped fingernail, a spike trodden on, a broken nose. And yeah, slobbering halfwits sometimes try it on, but I shamble them into the ocean." Law cracked his knuckles. Fools.

"I see." Who fished them out? "Considering I can't get what's going on in your designs, who can?"

"Matchstick Maestri."

"They exist?" He laughed and hooked an arm around Law's offbeat languor and placed his lips against his hair, clean now.

"Benn. The cook."

"I think they'd be searching for their fire-sticks, not your designs."

"You."

"Me?"

Law got up to study the game of mahjong they had going on his small cabin table. "Don't want you to see the product until it's finished."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Law hadn't removed himself from the pseudo dungeon for model two. He hauled Marco into its cobwebbed corners.

"I think I got it right this time."

About three months had passed since the visit, and despite the dips and curves between them, and the general obligations of swashbuckling life, they found more strength in one another than depletion. Marco was happy that Law seemed to be sticking around. The pirate seemed to be of the same mind.

"Why do you need my approval?"

"You know the ruins outside of Alubarna?" Law turned to Marco quickly. It was always so dark down there that he couldn't be sure of those flashes of gold.

"Capital of Alabasta?"

Both men stood, arms crossed, assessing Law's latest creation.

"Yeah. There are the tombs, but it's also rumoured that some of the ruins were a love letter from a shah to his favourite dead wife. A favourite when alive of course, but he built a magnificent temple after her death. Altogether, they had fourteen children, and giving birth to the last one killed her."

"That's also a tomb. Your concept of romance is going to kill me."

Law nodded in agreement. "Just as well you can't have kids then. It might waylay the inevitable."

Shanks and Benn, Bepo and Penguin, enjoyed the way Law's face relaxed and Marco's reacted when the two shared time together. The grief Marco carried became more a part of everyday life and less a governing principle.

"Yeah, biological impossibility, not to mention that it has to be a good day to get into your pants."

Law ducked his head. "Or me into yours – that's kind of how it works, if you had the right equipment."

"Are you questioning my manhood?"

"Nah," Law leant into Kikoku. "Just your working knowledge of the birds and the bees. Somehow my doctor senses tell me that even in the New World things aren't weird enough for you to carry a child."

Marco looked crestfallen for a second. Law wasn't sure it was at the loss of a potential child, or being cast as a mother, the salt of the earth. Or that he'd only just learnt how human reproduction worked. Kind of.

Then the Phoenix perked up. "These models are love letters?" A better sign of devotion from the shah to his wife might have been to have fewer kids, he thought, but things were done differently in the old days.

"You doubt my sincerity?" The red thread around Kikoku was worn and needed replacing. Law pulled at it, though he knew the task should be done with mindfulness, ceremony, and probably not in the hull, though she had preened at his attention down here. The dankness appealed to her malignant heart.

"Can't you use pen and paper?"

"Hmm." Law stopped himself from unravelling the thread further. "It _might_ rile Benn up just as much to find all his pens missing when he went to do the crossword."

He was strange as fuck. Marco couldn't help but want him close, but if you kept this glittering creature, you lost everything. The Phoenix understood, but didn't want to follow, the urge to restrict Law in hope of always having him near, available. Like drops in the curve of a leaf, you lost it all the minute you tried to shape it, change it.

"You do this to piss off Benn?"

"Naah. But it would piss him off." Law looked up from the sword, eyes light.

.

"Whose idea was this? Bepo's?"

"The models?"

Marco nodded.

"Why does everyone think that the crew is behind their captain's success?" He rested Kikoku, grumbling at the abandonment, against the bench and returned to Marco's side.

"Umm, _Captain Trafalgar_ , because they usually are, and Bepo has some difficulty with the finer side of things."

"His maps are workable."

Law looped an arm in his own. Marco glanced down. Were they going to do the cakewalk promenade in a four by four cell?

"Mmm." Marco tipped his head Law's way. He responded.

"Readable."

"Light up your Room so I can see your creation."

Law listened again to Marco's breath. So different from rasps he could only distinguish from others by the frequency of use, the weight of the tread on the concrete floor, the particular way they pushed into him, or pulled him against them. Him having been the commodity. Whether they had nails that dug into his skin, or applied so much pressure a cracked rib was not unheard of. There were the ones that just couldn't shut up, of course. To be acknowledged as something to be used, or to _not_ be acknowledged at all and still used – he didn't know which was worse.

He increased the intensity of the Room. Hanging from the ceiling, Law informed the Phoenix, voice deadpan, eyes bright, were onigiri with every filling except umeboshi, rolled lettuce with stuffing, rolled cabbage with fish, and dolmades. All made from matchsticks.

"I added the dolmades for you."

Marco compressed his lips. Mythical zoans did not giggle. "Isn't it all for me?"

"Yeah, but I'd never had dolmades before, so they're special." Law snorted beside him.

A bunch of matchstick moths and pupae hung from the ceiling waiting to hatch.

"How can you tell an umeboshi onigiri from another type?" One lepidopteran from the next?

" _I_ know there's no umemboshi." Law looked to him with an expression to show that that should be enough. "It's the default, anyway. _No_ umeboshi. It should be a rule. And see, on the side there are the man-eating horses that ate the cabbage-hating king. Or wait, grapes, wine, vines - he hated the wine god."

The moths could eat the cabbages, Marco thought. He followed the enthusiastic wave of Law's hand and saw a series of matches that looked like razed staircases.

He laughed, unhooked his arm from Law's own, and put it around his back. Law's heart was steady against his own. "You're something else. I hope that lettuce is untainted."

"Of course."

"That the cabbage won't drive us mad."

"You don't like it?"

"I don't get it."

And Law did his hand thingy and returned the – pretty beaten up by now – matches to their boxes. But that was alright, because while he did that Marco decided it was a good time to do some bodily excavation of his own, urging Law to teleport them to one of their rooms and, after drawing Kikoku into their orbit, he did.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

The third time, Law cornered Marco as he was coming out of the baths, towelling his hair. It was a few weeks after the amputation incident, a few weeks after Law having trusted enough to not only lead but be led.

"Going my way, big boy?" He channelled his inner-Ivankov, pushing a hand up against Marco's chest.

Marco lifted Law's hand. He wasn't dressed yet. He wasn't uninterested though. Big boy, huh? Law and he were puny compared to most of the crew members, but the best things came in lean, muscular packages. They couldn't all be born giants. "Where might that be?"

"Not to the dungeon."

That sounded promising. "You've got that out of your system?"

"For the time being."

"Where to?"

They started across the deck. Clouded skies smothered the sunset.

"Doctor's chambers."

"Of torture or pleasure?"

"Conversation and contemplation." They passed Law's garden, and he paused to pull up a few weeds.

"Sounds boring to me."

"Torture then." He grinned.

As he stood, Marco pushed Law a little ahead, pulling his own shirt from the bundle in his arms over his head. "I'm clean. Does that count for anything?"

Law glanced back at Marco with a smile. "It counts for a lot."

"How about you?"

"Covered in splinters." And he was. Marco wondered how much bitching Law had to put up with from whoever did the laundry on the sub. Though maybe he did his own. The sub wasn't always with them.

"I'm not sleeping with a porcupine."

"Just as well, cos this porcupine doesn't feel like sleeping with anyone."

"Hah."

They walked easily. Close enough to be together in an understated way that suited Marco's sense of just being fucking immortal. No need to get the fuck upset about everything, cos sooner or later it would pass. He didn't remember from one rising to the next though, but there was no need to cling to anything until you strangled it, because if it left it would pass by again.

Law had been through too much to get the fuck upset about everything. He'd been subjected to it all, and somehow managed to slip away from it. Always aware, but not always wary.

"So, why are you luring me to your room if not for a night of debauchery?"

"It's not all about the fucking, Marco." Law folded his arms as they walked. He had the feathered jumper on again. Marco was always a bit disappointed when Law's ink was covered, but he still had the back of his hands to ogle.

"Shame."

"Got something to show you."

"No, Law."

"Last one, I promise." Law faced him briefly as they walked.

"You got it right?"

"Maybe. I spoke with Robin on the Den-Den, and she thought it sounded good." He faced forward.

"That's the woman who thinks morticians at work are high entertainment."

"Aren't they?"

He pulled the back of Law's sweater, and got him to walk more in step with him. "How did you score such a loving crew?"

"They like watching morticians too."

Who wouldn't?

The Heart pushed open the door, and they removed their footwear, Marco dropping his towel on the small table near the door.

.

Law's cabin was welcoming. The Whitebeard felt none of the imbalance of the hull here. It was Law's space. Only those he let in came in. Excepting the thieves.

They stepped into the main part of the room, and Marco sighted a model on the table. "You completed it here?"

"Yeah, I've been your guest the last few nights, right?"

"When you weren't having a hissy fit and all curled up in on yourself."

"Fell deep. Sorry."

Marco rubbed his back. Law pressed his shoulder in thanks, apology.

"Plus, gave you a chance to hang with everyone."

"They like hanging with you too." He pulled out his chair, and Law's, as the Heart counted his supplies to see how much sake Shanks had stolen. A bottle was missing. Could be anyone. He only kept the cheaper stuff in the obvious places. He shambled a higher quality drop from who knows where, a spare matchstick replacing it.

"Some like hanging with me, and me them, but not always."

"So, you weren't all curled up?"

"I fucking was. Held the most intense, numbest conversation with the wall in front of me, but after I got over myself I set to work."

Marco poured the sake. Law never denied that he had problems. Marco liked the outlook. What you could see, you could work toward changing.

The bottle teetered on the edge of the tabletop, the rest taken up with the model. Law had cut and spliced a house on a hill, overlooking an ocean. A wood-fired oven sat in its garden. Three spindly figures ran in the yard. Marco could recognise most structures.

 _Most things_. "What are they?" He waved at the figures.

"Our dogs."

"Wha?"

"Our wood-fired oven. Our view of the ocean. Our house."

Marco emptied his sake. In a hurry.

"Law. There's still shit to do. Doflamingo's flapping about. We're not even _a quarter_ of a quarter of the way through your hang-ups, Kaidou's bellicose, Luffy's causing havoc, and you're talking house?" It was only a little over six months between them.

"Matchstick house."

Marco felt Law's confidence waver.

"Just a dream, Marco. I haven't been on land in so long." He indicated the area at the base of the hill where he hoped to set up a practice to treat everyday injuries and illnesses.

Marco forgot at times that Law was more confined than the rest of them. Doflamingo and Vergo, then the admirals, had cored him, and until they were gone, it was unlikely he'd travel without the strength of a crew or crews, even when he was the one, in the case of the Hearts, who took care of them. Who was stronger than all of them combined.

Law did a great job. He surrounded himself with good people, strong people, but there were days and memories that just laid him low. Marco could help only so much, and neither of them wanted him to be some kind of saviour.

"What are their names?" Marco asked, knowing it was not a plan, but a dream.

"Misery, Mephistopheles and Mercury." Law pointed at the three figures that closely resembled the man-eating horses he'd attempted to represent with his last model. Upper Palaeolithic kind of models, only not quite as sophisticated. Still, closer to some sentient being than a turned in on itself staircase. He was improving. Law tapped his sake against Marco's topped-up cup and drank.

"Cora fed a dog sweet potato once, outside a village on an island we visited. Amber lead was eating my body. He tried to get the doctors and nurses to treat it. We went from hospital to hospital, but they screamed when they saw me, called me monster, called the military."

Law glanced over at Marco. "Cora blew up the hospitals after telling the staff off."

"Of course he did."

Law's crooked grin. "Never realised how hardcore he really was until I was an adult. I'm not sure if that was the competent or incompetent parenting part of him."

Marco wondered what drove Law to sit beside him, splinters in the threads of his clothes like toothpicks spat down from the Tontatta.

"The destruction didn't make me feel much better, but one night a dog came into our camp and it couldn't or didn't see the marks covering most of my skin, paid no attention to them."

Law turned his face to Marco and swept an open palm down two-thirds of it. "My face, it was one white splotch from here to here. Hurt like hell."

Marco found it hard to believe. He leant in and ran his fingers over Law's cheeks and chin, scarred in other ways. "Beautiful."

"Irrelevant," Law said, jerking his head away, but took note that Marco didn't seem to be talking about the surface. Even so, he couldn't stop from curling his lip minutely. The Phoenix picked up his mangled hand, teaching himself the contours of the half nails, the rainbow lining of crusty barnacles and limpets. Law sighed, but didn't pull away.

"The dog. True, it was indifferent to me. All it was focused on was the food. But it came closer when it saw us. It ran away when it got food, but it sat at my feet until Cora fed him his sweet potato, and then I dropped mine because I had to help Cora put out a fire. It wasn't scared of being tainted."

Phoenix's avian side related to the fauna and those with animal characteristics who were drawn to his pirate.

"The marks were all over my body."

But they weren't contagious.

Marco sometimes wished that his feathers actually were soft, something they could both lie on, that could enfold them other than at times of healing. His gaze ran over the matchstick model.

"Wood-fired oven, huh? I thought you hated pizza."

Law lifted Marco's hand from the table where it still felt his own, pressed his lips to it. Distracted, he let their joined hands fall to his lap.

"For incinerating bodies."

"We'll still be in the murder business?"

"You never know."

And Law didn't return those matches to their boxes, but kept the model as a blueprint, adding to and taking from it until Luffy scored his crown.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading.**  
Marco and Law's in depth conversations after Doffy and Vergo visit the Red Force in _Repossession_ can be found in chapter sixteen, and chapter seventeen. The discussion with Shanks and Benn after the visit is chapter fifteen, a tough chapter, read the warnings.

I just reread chapter seventeen of _Repossession_ , and Law clearly states that giving head triggered him at that time (he states this the day the Don Quixote pirates descend), hence the paragraph above. Hope I'm not making my boy and story too inconsistent. For example, I know the Kaidou timeline doesn't make sense, but I hope you can suspend your disbelief. It is just fan-fiction, and things happen fast in Oda's world, even though they obviously pan out over a period of time in real-life reading and watching time.

Law's desire to become a landlubber is explored in chapter eighteen, and the background role of the wood-fired oven is touched upon in chapter nineteen of _Repossession_.

The dogs are explored in various fics, but the best overview might be in A Rascal, A Rogue, A Scamp.

The cover to Manga chapter 855 where Cora shares his sweet potato with a stray. I also mention this story in chapter seven of this fic.


	28. Knave of Hearts - Island time, present

**Chapter twenty-eight: The Knave of Hearts, He Stole those Tarts**

* * *

Chopper left the table, relieved. Right bower, Left bower, renege, calling on the highest card that wasn't a trump. Four players confused him enough, let alone the go-it-alone, secret-partner, absolute-but-hidden rules of a five-handed euchre game. He didn't even know his left antler from his right some days, so how could they expect him to understand this activity that called a spade a club – if it was trumps, _and_ the left bower and . . . he just gave up.

He'd thought they were talking about bowels at first. Now that was something he understood.

Bepo wasn't allowed to play. He apologised the minute he had a good hand – or bad – so on reflection maybe he had the best pokerface of them all. Mina, his wife, ran a smooth, cool and easy cafe for coffee, liquor, beer, and cards, so he was usually nearby when the deck came out.

Chopper joined the Heart navigator and Mina at the bar, the two medical professionals immediately diving into conversation not about their clients, but maybe about their symptoms.

Law rested Kikoku near him, against the table, far from Zoro (drinking at the bar), and cast off his backpack, leaving it against the wall. Shachi, slack against a counter, lifted his head as Law caught his eye. The redhead grabbed a glass and pulled his captain's favourite ale.

'Five-hander?"

Sanji shuffled, drew on his cigarette, and nodded. Of course it was. Five people at the table, the cards used as counters, all the people who were playing, and Chopper's vacated seat. The zoan had seen the Surgeon of Death and jumped at the opportunity. Law glanced over at him now, and Chopper put up a hoof in greeting and in a ready relinquishing of his seat. Law smiled.

Robin hated to admit it, but a quiet relief, reciprocal to Chopper's own, washed over the table. Someone who understood the game and tactics had arrived. It was time to up the ante.

"Welcome back, Trafalgar."

Law nodded at Izou. The most likely to cheat among them, but also the most skilled at the game. The most likely to renege and to call someone else out for doing the same. Most likely to make trumps on a wing and a prayer, and to go it alone. And win.

That's if Nami hadn't been sitting to his side.

Shachi brought over Law's favourite burnt ale, and quickly retreated under Izou's stink-eye. No underhand communication. Before he hightailed it, he noted a few twigs in Law's hair, mud on the cuffs of his trousers. The boss, a bit grubby and worn, had obviously just got in. No bandages snaking up his arm, plasters on his face. That was always a good sign.

It depended on whether they were playing for matches, money or machinations as to whether Nami came out on top. If it was the first two, she was stiff competition for Izou.

Robin was there for the third and conversation, but always took a trick or two, helping out her partner without their knowledge until she decided to show the called upon card, or had to follow suit.

Sanji — when the ladies were there — didn't stand a chance, but a boys game saw him crank _diable jambe_ into gear more than once if someone dared not follow the rules, or not eat the canapés he'd prepared. He'd scarred Chopper for life, basically.

Law. _Feh_ – welcome back – they'd save it for another time, he'd made it, hadn't he? He was a clever player, not afraid of risk, but less likely than Izou to jump in boots and all. He sat to Sanji's left and had first call for the round. Chopper had been dreading it, so he gulped down the drink Shachi put in front of him in appreciation of having been freed from that pressure. Lemon squash had never tasted so sweet.

"Hearts are trumps. Calling on the highest spade."

A wince on Nami's face, Izou's feet kicking Law's own? Robin and her secret smile.

He led with a smaller heart and eyebrows rose, but Izou saved him, or did he? He was only playing for a point.

Mina walked over carrying a small pewter plate with six or seven of Sarah's nicely rolled home-grown atop. The islanders all took care of one another with a low-key black economy. Law smiled up at her, it was nice to be back. He paid first, chose, lit up – Sanji actually sharing his lighter – and passed the joint to Robin. Chopper shook his head at the secondhand smoke, not to mention the firsthand effects on the Heart captain, and the play continued.

 **oOOo**

"Law."

He turned to Robin. Izou _had_ been his partner and they'd not done badly. Three tricks out of five, and Law had saved Nami's arse in the round to follow.

"We've all discussed it – and none of us have a clue – just what _is_ that sculpture over the bar?"

Law learnt how to play with the Family. It was a deadly pastime the second and third time around, so he never got too invested. It didn't matter how great your hand was if you weren't the one pulling the strings.

But this non-Don Quixote group liked playing with him. They never used the joker, but that wasn't out of deference to him. It was just the way they played. If Franky was at the table, he'd have insisted on including it. A South Blue thing.

Law played for more than matches if they were betting, but quit or let someone take his place if the stakes entered the region of harvesting organs or losing the shirt off his back, even though he _was_ adept at the first, and no-one complained about the second.

Izou and Nami had a few properties between them through high stakes games, and had lost a few too, though not many. Zoro was _not_ allowed to participate if Sanji was in and vice versa. Plus, he was usually more invested in his drink than the proceedings. Luffy had zero interest.

If Marco was around, he'd _only_ play for matches if there were wagers on the table, so they dealt the Phoenix in when Bepo, Chopper, Shachi and Law himself were playing. Law could always do with more matches. Shachi was a shark (disguised as a whale) but he sometimes played the soft games to buoy Bepo's confidence.

"Ask Bepo," Law said, snug in a warm buzz.

Everyone looked to Bepo and the Mink shrugged. He liked the sculpture just because Law had made it.

"Shachi."

"Beats me, boss," he said from where he polished glasses and chatted to Roronoa.

"Really?" Law only cast a quick look toward the main counter and then back to his cards and, more importantly, at whatever Izou was doing. Table talk or mute table talk, that guy was notorious.

The warm island air spilled in as the door opened out. Marco crossed to Chopper and Zoro, but did an about-face once he noticed Law, Law's head turning his way. Robin recognised easy acceptance, comfort, in either man's expression. Marco wandered over, ruffled Law's hair (picking out the few twigs), and planted a kiss on his temple, Law holding his cards to his chest so Izou couldn't accuse him of cheating.

Marco noted the silver band. It seemed more common nowadays. He took in Kikoku next to Law, and his bag at the back of the room. His flecked eyes spoke of welcome and the Phoenix squeezed his shoulder.

"What's the topic of conversation?" He loped back to the bar and Zoro made room for him.

"Law's sculpture, that matchstick thing, hanging over there. What is it?" Robin said, waving her hand in its direction.

Marco looked up. Functionalism, Brutalism, it might have been recognisable, but this was What-the-Fuck-ism. "Best you ask the maestro." He shot a look at Law, still with his cards close, tipping back his beer, returning the glance.

"Is it a human-eating horse, Law?" That was his default for any of Law's creations. Those who knew them well recognised the quirk of lips from either one of them.

"There are horses that eat humans?" Zoro asked Marco from his side.

"And kings that don't like wine."

"Get outta here."

Though maybe Luffy was one of them.

"Can we get this art appreciation class over and done with so we can get on with this round?" Nami asked, tapping nails. She had a good hand and prayed no-one would make it trumps before she did. The deal had gone around the table back to Sanji.

"The suspense is killing us, Trafalgar. Spit it out." Izou yawned. Law slit his eyes in his direction.

The model was an oblong lump of crosshatched match splices, a series of individual staves protruding from the top.

"Pass," Law said looking down at his cards.

"Away." Robin.

"Yes!" Nami fist-pumped, and then remembered she should stay calm. "Clubs are trumps, calling on the highest diamond."

Law led a heart. The miners of Flevance played euchre and maybe it spread to other regions from there, or maybe it came from other regions. People crossed the world looking to make their fortune. It could have been Sanji who taught the Strawhats, but the game was known amongst most crews.

"Well?" Robin asked, following suit, but placing a card of lower value on the hand.

"It's the Polar Tang, the sub."

Everyone turned to look, except for Marco, who smiled into his beer.

"How so?"

"It's docked. All those matches sticking up? That's the crew."

Bepo counted them. Twenty.

"The redheads – well, I know it's a fire hazard, but one is Shachi and the other represents Penguin's original pom-pom. The one he used to wear on his hat."

Shachi looked up and nodded. He could see it. He and Bepo shared a look, all warm and fuzzy.

Nami played a small club. No hearts then. Everyone else followed suit, Sanji wasting an ace. Law wondered that Nami hadn't gone it alone. She must have one weak card. She led with the ace of clubs, and no-one trumped her with the jack of spades or clubs.

"The tallest one is Jean Bart, of course, and the next tallest is Bepo." He couldn't believe that Bepo had been displaying the model all that time without knowing what it was. He seemed to love it all the same, but why did he think he'd given it to him? And as for Marco, he was just being obtuse. Unable to follow suit, he resigned himself to Nami winning the round.

"Where are you, Captain?"

"In the control room. Only chance I ever got to pilot the damn thing."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Marco looked on with interest as details of the yard and house and practice, _and_ the addition of a small shack on the beach, all rendered in matchstick, grew. Law had to explain what most things were.

"A palm tree."

"A hammock."

"The garden."

Bless him. He guessed Law saw the world as a series of components making up the whole, and it didn't really matter how that whole was represented. His doctor's eye, his artist's eye, his fruit-user's eye could see it. It was a shame that others couldn't, including him, but even that didn't really matter, because it occupied Law for hours, and was a pretty cool, shambolic love letter.

Hanging from the table one visit was a misproportioned bundle of matches. Marco had whittled a chimney for their model house and left it for Law to place. Law ran his fingers over the mortar joints he'd etched into the wood.

"Okay. What's that?" Marco warmed at the curve of Law's lips as he inspected the chimney. His Nana – he'd recently added collecting tea-towels to his list of hobbies, hence the nickname, though Marco didn't forget that among his interests was the classifying and preserving of specimens, specimens being the hearts and viscera of the hapless. Law followed Marco's gaze.

"The sub."

"The air is the sea?"

Law nodded. "Wouldn't seem right not to have the sub nearby."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"Who'd you foist that yellow folly onto?"

Izou proved to be Nami's partner, taking the last trick, the two getting a march. Law would probably see the game out, but it was obvious that one or the other of the two would win.

"Jean Bart tours around for medicinal supplies, and when it's downtime he takes tourists to the deep, dark, sea." Folly indeed. As if the Thousand Sunny Go was the epitome of taste, not to mention its replacement.

.

Between hands, Vista wandered in and over to the table. Robin, facing Law, inclined her head toward the bar. He looked up.

"Trafalgar."

Vista and Izou exchanged glances. The swordsman was aware of Roronoa and Marco. He also knew that Law wasn't a shabby player and, with Sanji lust-struck, he probably wouldn't lose too much, if anything, by taking over the Heart's game. Zoro wished he was playing now.

"Mind taking my place? We're only betting pennies." The room had shrunk with Vista's arrival.

The Whitebeard almost refused the surgeon. His loyalty was with Marco, and Law's absences never sat quite right with him, but Marco would not denounce them, so he bit his tongue.

"Don't believe it if those two are at the table."

Nami and Izou stared out.

"That's wise," Law said, but stood up regardless. Chairs were adjusted and the Whitebeard took his place.

"A penny a day keeps the doctor away," Nami murmured under her breath. Law wasn't sure what she meant and had little interest in finding out. Marco jutted his chin toward the door. Law nodded, imperceptible to most. He picked up his bag and nodachi, said his farewells and pressed Robin's shoulder lightly under, not only Nami and Izou's watchful gaze, but Sanji's. Marco met him at the exit, and the two left the premises.

"Welcome back, shitty surgeon," Sanji mumbled and wondered why he hadn't had the foresight to take Law's counter cards, and give Vista his own. Nami was wiping the floor with him.

"What'll it be?" Mina called from the main counter.

* * *

 **A/N** : A quiet chapter. I'll tie up the loose ends when we get there. For the story about Mina and Bepo, check out _Bepo's Wedding._ For info on the **new** Strawhat ship, (remember, this series is post-canon), check out _One Hundred Red Noses_. Both of those fics have a G rating.


	29. Even so? - Marco, Law: Is time, present

**A/N:** **No real warnings**. Touches upon Law's past life here and there, and the chapter also talks about troubles between Marco and Law, but not sexually or violently explicit. Even so, adult themes, proceed accordingly, but I wouldn't term this chapter as explicit or confronting, though it might give some readers food for thought. **Chapters 25-29 uploaded on the same day. 30-35 soon to follow.**

* * *

 **Chapter twenty-nine – And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so?**

 **Marco/Law - present, island time**

* * *

"Captain!"

Law paused at the door and staggered backwards as Bepo tackle-hugged him, propelling him into Marco. The card game continued. Sanji, flicking his eye over the late reunification, ashed his cigarette. Only Robin smiled. No one really knew at what. Nami had a game to win.

"You came back."

"Mmmphff." Bepo's fur was like a loofah along his jowls.

"We missed you."

Bepo released him and Law caught his breath. Harder to do than catching his navigator. "Wasn't gone that long," he wheezed out, bent over. Marco clapped him on the back. The Phoenix guessed they were both getting on, though Law was the one with all the grey. And smoked more weed.

Respiratory system recalibrating, Law straightened. Bepo, crowded him, brushing down Law's shirt and isolating his own white hairs from others.

"Who is she?" he hissed, brandishing a clump of fur in front of his captain's face.

"Stand down!" Shachi called from inside.

"Bepo." Law wrapped his fingers around part of the navigator's paw, and got him to lower it. He took the fur from him, shoved it in his pocket. "Bleat. Sengoku's goat. We're friends, but I can't hold a conversation in the same way. She's not a Mink."

Bepo dropped his head, sorry for his sudden jealousy, for acting out of order. Happy at captain's indirect praise.

"It's okay." Law touched Bepo's side. "She was Cora's childhood friend"

The navigator looked up, a slight pink to his cheeks. Way to go, Bepo. Now he really did feel like shit. To take his mind off it, he stepped back to take in the human in front of him. Was Captain holding himself stiffly? Were there injuries under that Lesser-Mink clothing?

"We worry so _much_ when you leave."

 _Really_ , Nami thought – ordering her cards – considering how long and why the Hearts had been without Law last time he'd taken off without crew, their anxiety was understandable. But you could live with hope or without it.

"Yeah." Law tipped his hat over his eyes. "Marco keep you updated?"

The Phoenix glanced back over his shoulder at Law behind him, into the cafe. Vista waited at the table for his drink. Shachi listened in from behind the bar. The two Heart crew zeroed in on the Whitebeard.

Marco turned around, spoke to the warm air displacing the cool of the bar. "I'm not his keeper." And there also wasn't that much more that he knew, though he _had_ known Law wasn't in danger. "Work keeps me busy."

Cold, Shachi thought.

But it was true, and also fine. It was up to Law to stay in touch or not. Not to send information by proxy.

 _Drama, drama, drama_ , Izou mouthed to himself, also rearranging cards, viewing the ones already played. Trafalgar, always with the drama.

"Yah. Sorry. I should've called." Law evened out the lopsided weight of his backpack. "Wasn't gone that long." And he _was_ back.

Vista rolled his eyes. Robin led the next hand.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

House bats, targeting mosquitoes and other flying insects, swooped through the air like swallows. Law and Marco meandered along the road in the thick island heat. Law's backpack had seen better years, but Kikoku looked like new.

"How'd you get in?"

"Hiked a lot of it. Met up with Aokiji. Gave me a lift part of the way."

"By chance?"

"Dunno. He'd left the old man's a few days before, and just happened to be waking from a nap along one point of the track."

"He took you on the mama-chari?"

"Oof." Law shook his head, that was one clunker of a bicycle. "The seat of my bony arse is still aching."

Aokiji froze the rivers, and then Camel took them part of the way over the oceans, but when the waters grew too warm for the penguin, Law hopped a few ferries.

Travelling across the sea as a passenger _on_ Aokiji's friend was very cool, and had actually also _been_ very cool. Camel and Aokiji weren't affected. Law shouldn't have been either, coming from the North Blue, where freshwater met the ocean and washed crystal ice onto the foreshore, but he'd spent too long now on the island he and Marco called home. Plus, he wasn't able to manipulate ice, nor was he acclimatised to it.

He'd thought of buying the pair skewers of meat from the town they'd planned to drop him off at, but Aokiji's weird conversation with Sengoku about admirals being the main ingredient for hypothetical shish kebabs was still fresh. Law didn't want to run the risk of Aokiji thinking he was taking the piss, even though It seemed Camel really liked the food.

Instead, he used Room, while they were on the ocean, to conjure a few hundred krill. Camel was over the moon, and the krill was all over Aokiji. He wasn't happy, but he'd almost tipped Law into the water more than once on their journey through the mountains. Anything that grabbed the admiral's attention he chased in case he forgot that it had grabbed his attention.

This meant a number of sudden stops and turns and Law needing to grip the back of the ex-admiral's coat as he veered sharply over a frozen surface. Law, not necessarily following the trajectory of the bicycle, veering over very unfrozen surfaces.

He was sure it was deliberate – Aokiji enjoyed seeing him scramble – but what could he do? Apart from drop krill from on high over the ex-admiral? Camel didn't care. He plumed Aokiji's hair, chasing the creatures. The marine shook them out of his clothes, almost as active as the tiny crustaceans. The three of them were close enough to shore for Law to Shamble himself in if the ex-marine thought the ocean was a fitting location for him.

Marco grinned at the thought of his partner on that old rattletrap. He cast an eye at Law readjusting the nodachi on his shoulder.

Law followed his gaze. "If she's crooning a lullaby, it's of contemplating death before waking, but she was calm back there, even with you and Zoro in the bar."

"Did you do any slaughtering, butchering, massacring?" Maybe that had abated her thirst. Better a lullaby than a murder ballad. Even if the lullaby was premeditative musing.

"Of the innocent, or the wicked?"

"Either, or."

Law flicked the back of a finger across the eyebrow that always seemed to have a few hairs out of place, smiled at Marco from the side.

"Cut some grass for Bleat and the Den-Den mushi."

"Isn't that below her station?"

Law felt her indignant reverberation. Hell yeah.

"She wasn't pleased."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

It gave Marco a petty kind of pleasure that Mercury remained glued to his legs and didn't greet Doctor Dolittle as they entered the house. Even as they sat at the kitchen table, she regarded Law warily from the safety Marco offered. After judgement cast was surely judgement noticed, she clacked over to Law's bag, a look across her shoulder warning of even trying for warm and cuddly. She sniffed the backpack like a forensic scientist, obviously detecting Bleat's aroma. Maybe Camel's.

Then, and only then, did she approach Law with a glare, and snuffled his clothes, moving her head with a slight jerk when he tried to pat behind her ears, instead getting him to turn his hand over – one side, then the other – so she could determine just where he'd been and who with. After a few hearty inhalations, she huffed away to the man who had remained true over the last week or so, disdain evident at having her suspicions confirmed.

Law laughed and locked his arms behind his head. Was it the remnants of Bleat's scent that put her off, or the joint he'd had at Mina's? Maybe even Aokiji, from clutching at that jacket, needing to hold him around the waist at times.

He looked over at Marco and wondered if he'd get the same treatment. Mercury preened into his touch, her tail lazily hitting the floor. If a dog could make snake-eyes . . .

They hadn't got around to preparing a drink between them, the tabletop empty, save a few unopened bills. The house was neat and diffused with the oils Law liked. The ones he kept in his practice and clinics to encourage calm in the waiting rooms.

The Phoenix was looking good.

Marco caught his glance and dug a hand into either pocket of his cut-offs. "You show me yours, I'll show you mine," he said with a smile.

It was gonna be like that, huh? Law pinched the mouth of his trouser pocket with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, and dug in with the other, pulling out the basalt. It clicked on the table like heels brought to attention. Marco matched it with his own, their hands brushing.

"Warm?"

Law looked across, drew his hand back. The stone had kept some heat. Damnedest thing.

Marco set the lapis lazuli from his other pocket beside the basalt. The clack to a clickety-clack of motion. Law took the agate and rested it to the side of the gem. The agate had seen Law through some dark days but maybe it repelled that weight, rather than drawing it in, and sounded against the wood like water retreating over pebbles.

Marco urged Law to bring his chair closer. They angled the seats so the front of them were lined up, the table still within elbow-leaning distance. They sat with their legs to either side of the chairs, Law's long limbs outside of Marco's, Marco's hooked beneath.

Mercury growled at the taller man.

"A- _ra_ ," Law growled back.

She wagged her tail, came over and rested her head on Law's thigh, licked his hand gently.

"Sorry, lady." He leant towards her, and she pushed against his touch. "I'm back now." She gave one last lick, then walked to her spot in front of the sofa, curled up, and settled down. Let these two get on with it. Law guessed he was forgiven.

He didn't mind when Marco took his hand, sweaty, grimy and dog slobbery as it was, and yes, the Whitebeard was wearing one of the embroidered shirts. Marco didn't often wear black, so Law knew it was because of him. His absence. Law made those for himself, Marco's brand of sentimentality not steering that way.

.

In his freer, much younger days, if Law ever left the Don Quixote compound without permission, he'd face a hiding on return, despite being sick. Adherence to protocol was not to be questioned. Later, discipline dispensed to correct bothersome tendencies, like trying to escape from either of his enslavements, left the childhood punishments looking like a paper cut. The kind that left blood in your mouth and a few teeth loose. Vergo hadn't been around the first time.

But that wasn't a relationship.

He'd crossed paths with Baby 5 a few times, and she talked of life with Sai. "He's a good man. Doesn't beat me."

There was relief in not being beaten. Law understood.

But it wasn't a relationship.

Not a good one, if that was the only reason for staying, but he understood. Some days the fact he woke with steady hands was a miracle to him.

 _You got off lightly, Law_. _Show some goddamn gratitude._ Pinned and in pain, head yanked back, pushed down, twisted to the side, panting for air. He'd had to thank them for their lenience. Then it became habit. Belief.

If Marco lifted a finger against him, he'd raise a fist in answer. And get the fuck out of there, or kick Marco the fuck out. Wouldn't he? They? His clinics helped men with this question all the time.

The Phoenix moved the silver bangle, the band, down Law's arm, wondering if it was okay to slip it over the knob of his wrist, over that inked hand and fingers. He tried to read his partner's face. Worn out, Law, from travel, but not exhausted.

"Wait."

Marco left his hand on Law's wrist for a second, then lifted it away.

He wore the blue scarf. Law took its smooth tasselled cotton ends and pulled the man toward him, the bangle slipping down his forearm toward his elbow. He cupped a hand at the back of Marco's head, the cleft of his neck newly shaved. Marco's hands now rested on Law's thighs. Law felt the prickle of hair testing the surface of the skin, the low haze of the other man.

"You reek."

Law retreated, laughed. So much for romance. No mouth to mouth until later then. "What of?"

"Mink. Goat. Coffee. Sweat." Marco didn't let him drop his hold on the scarf, or move further away though, raising a hand to hold Law's. "Cigarettes, pot, beer."

Not too bad then, but even so.

Law raised the scarf over Marco's head and bundled it onto the table. He slipped off the silver and placed it on top of the cloth, pausing to wrap his thumb and middle finger around his wrist at its absence. He put the gems and stones on top of the fabric so they wouldn't lose them.

Then he leant in again, careful to keep his stinking breath away from Marco's mouth and nose. His hands on his shoulders, he peppered kisses from where the auricle of his ear contoured his cheek, to that bone's lowest point. Marco's thumbs pressed again into the muscle of Law's thighs.

Law drew back, dropped his hands from Marco's shoulders, and pushed his seat away, Marco watched, resting his head on his elbow on the table. Law stood and offered his open palm. Marco took it, straightened, and moved his own seat with a shove of his leg. He pulled Law close, fingers digging into his arm and back, and placed his lips firmly over the pirate's own.

"Open," he breathed.

Law did, but contemplated clasping Marco's nose to allow touch without stench, but that would result in the Whitebeard passing out from lack of air, so that was one for the back-burner. Nana bondage. Pegs instead of pinching. Sounded like something Tsuru would get into.

There were worse tastes and smells than the natural breakdown of a day's perspiration, though caffeine-laced breath might be equivalent to almost anything Doflamingo had subject him to. Law shook off the thought. Hyperbole.

Marco pulled away, with a lighter kiss, a touch of his tongue, at the corner of Law's alpine-cracked and calloused lips. "Missed you, babe." He knew just how Bepo felt. He held Law's head close still. Law thought he might be the one passing out soon from holding his breath. Chivalry could kill a man.

"Marco?" Law exhaled down, then looked across at the side of the room, Marco's face was too close to stare at it directly. Their skin, their bodies, still connected.

"Hmm?"

"Don't tell me what to do."

The Whitebeard smiled.

Hygiene mattered to Law. Not to get too precious, but he'd had to share space with so many fluids, rotting corpses, damaged organs, squalid rooms – his own body foul – that neat and clean, to be allowed that respect for himself, to _have_ that respect for himself, was fundamental. He knew he could survive more than a bit of grit, but it wasn't a challenge he wanted to face often. Dog slobber and animal fur aside.

"I'll brush my teeth soon."

Marco looked at him with confusion, and then tilted his head forward.

"Ah fuck, Law. It's good to see you."

They both knew he ran his thumb over the marine scar now because Law had seen that one out when maybe he wouldn't have. Shouldn't have. The concrete that had scraped his face very easily could have been the concrete that buried him. The attack that caused his cheek to scrape across the surface had shredded his sanity to the edges of coherence.

Luckily marines were amateurs.

"Marco?"

"What is it?"

Law held Marco's hand at the wrist, his exhalation against the Whitebeard's palm the spent rustle of summer. "Sometimes I remember, before everything, I remember the boy before the monster, before the man."

Marco leant in and kissed that smelly guy again.

Law shook his head away, but not strongly enough or with enough intention to break Marco's touch. He knew it wasn't pleasant to place lips to his own at present. Sometimes he wondered how Doflamingo stomached it when a particular punishment was to deprive him of everything.

"Go on monster." Marco dropped his hold and crossed the room to pick up Law's bag. Law grabbed his nodachi from the table, and Marco's favourite hellion followed him to the main bedroom.

"When I catch up with Sengoku, I don't know why, but some things settle. Then I can remember beyond the bodies, the cart, the blood, the bullets." The wet snow on Cora's feathered coat. "My mother gave me her purse at a festival. I bought strawberry ice-cream for Lamie, green tea flavour for me."

Then Lamie had to go to the hospital, but she'd sparked up with the fireworks and the food stalls, loved seeing the young men and women in their geta and yukata. Sometimes she wore her own, and Law in _jinbei_ – loose summer long shorts and a tied panelled top. It wasn't the only festival they'd gone to. Wasn't the only ice cream they'd had.

Marco and Law walked into the room, Mercury nosing past them. Fresh sheets. Made bed. Oil burnt in here too. Law took it in with unspoken thanks. He'd called Marco from an island away. The Phoenix dumped Law's bag onto the mattress. Law placed Kikoku near his side of the bed.

"Or maybe it was strawberry for me. I had a sweet tooth then." When he was maybe some version of sweet, but he'd been a strange kind of a kid. A killer of frogs. For scientific purposes.

"You grew out of sweet things as you got older?"

Law flicked his gaze to Marco. "You're not sweet, Marco. Layered, textured, reliable." High praise from Law. He sat on his side of the bed, lifted his bag and lowered it to the floor, removed his socks, shaking specks of dirt on the carpet. He wasn't _always_ the cleanest. "You're my pirate, but not sweet."

Giving Law's shoulder a squeeze, Marco moved to his side of the bed. "I think I'm remarkably sweet. Just like you. _And_ I vacuumed that floor today, slob." Law's socks were messing it up now too.

Law leant back on the bed, head pressed into the pillow. Slipped a hand over his eyes. Grinned. "Sorry, na? About the floor. Wasn't thinking." The bed dipped as Marco joined him. "Thanks for cleaning. Two sweet monsters?" The Heart stretched out his spare hand.

"I think only you get to have that moniker."

Law knew he didn't mean sweet.

Marco lay beside him, and took his hand, and there was nothing beastly about either grip.

"I tried to kill Corazon, ran a sword straight through him, and I bribed Buffalo with an ice cream." Law laughed. "When I was ten. The weaponry of men, and the currency of children."

The son of doctors, he'd known where to aim. Of course he was relieved, now, that his actions had failed to take Cora out. He'd been more than frustrated at the time.

Marco always wondered that the tattoos felt no different under his touch than the rest of Law's skin for the most part. That applied to them all, of course. Talkative Law. There was a lot to catch up on.

"It stirs things up when I go, I know it does."

Law never failed to catch the stares of Marco's friends, had heard their opinion of him leaving before, straight from the horse's mouth. He hated worrying Bepo so much, but Bepo was hardwired to worry. If he had his way, he'd send an armed guard to accompany Law on a five-minute walk.

"Getting away aerates the current, but the sediment that's stirred up before I go, that's clogging up the waterways, also floats down to a calm place."

Talkative and poetic Law. Plus, if Kikoku was singing Marco's demise into being, it was better that Law left for a while.

"If I stayed here, I don't know if I could get to the headspace I need to let things flow between us again. It's like the sediment would displace everything until there was nothing but sludge."

In his mind, body, and soul.

Usually it was Marco trying to explain.

"I don't cheat. I don't go to cheat on you."

"What?"

Law's thumb ran against his palm. He grasped his hand a little tighter.

"Bepo was so jealous of Bleat."

"Pftt. I know you're not going to cheat on me with a goat."

"With anyone."

Just listen. Law knew that Vista and Izou didn't trust him. His hand against his face and the pillow under his head were hardly noticeable.

"I go to get away from – it's not even memories, because I wasn't clear when it happened, so fuzzy-tongued and blurry-minded – and there wasn't pain."

Physical pain. Extreme physical pain.

Damn it. Marco didn't look over, but Law's breath faltered. His hand still over his eyes, maybe his thumb and middle fingers pushing into the dip below his temples. His sideburns wet. How did the conversation get here? It needed to get here.

"You didn't force me." Law inhaled deeply. They'd been through this. Years had passed.

"I took advantage, Law." It was unforgivable. Had Law been holding onto this all tonight?

He kept talking, but didn't pull his hand away from Marco's. "The sediment? It lodges in my throat, backs up my throat the most. It's the loss of control and not having your respect – at that time – that I have to work through and also escape." And Kikoku's thirst. The anger.

Marco listened. All he could do was listen. That Law had worse done to him didn't cut it. They lay there. Marco's mother's words in his head after she crawled away from another beating. _He didn't mean it. Your father's a good man. The things he's seen._

Side by side. One with his vision covered, the other staring at the ceiling. If Law withdrew his hand without a word, and left the bed without a word, Marco wouldn't know where they stood, until he heard the bedroom door open, and the front door click. But Law wouldn't do that without first brushing his teeth. He may or may not say goodbye to Mercury.

Law dropped his hand from his face, blinked at the light, then glanced at Marco. That attitude. That disregard. Not part of the man next to him now, were they? Which memories and actions made up the present? Was Law the boy who ate strawberry or green tea ice cream? Or a taker of lives, amphibious or otherwise? Or every judgment and action anyone had placed on him, taken from him?

Something existed beyond all of it. Beyond action, beyond thought, good and bad. For Marco too, not just him.

Law squeezed the Whitebeard's hand and sat up, eyes red. Travel, dope, grief, reflection. He wiped at his face and beard as if he'd just spilt a crumb-load of crisps upon it. Brushed his hand on his leg.

"Going to clean my teeth. Have a shower. Then turn in?"

Marco's arm was over his eyes now and he nodded weakly. Fuck yeah.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

They lay side by side, though Marco would eventually roll over, and maybe Law would spoon into him, or vice versa. Law's arm against him without the silver band brought him closer. The Heart, clean now, slept now, and tomorrow, or soon, they'd go through that nightmare and figure out an even better way to deal with it, to deal with Dellinger and Kizaru.

And it was progress that Doflamingo hid in the shadows of the last dream, rather than being at the fore, and that Kid was nowhere to be found.

Marco was happy to know he hadn't been a dream-demon. That he'd been a major part of the subconscious cheer squad.

He stared into the lighter points of the room, took in Mercury's snuffling in the corner, turned over the question he knew he'd never ask. Usually it sat at the back of his mind, but right now it rapped against his forehead.

Was it easy to return, Law? Had it been an easy decision to make?

* * *

 **A/N:** I really debated having Law decide to stay in the mountains, or just live his life out peacefully somewhere else, and maybe I'll write that alternative ending.

Okay, chapters to refer to in other works: The full break down of Marco and Law's situation is in _Teaspoons_ on AO3 _,_ and summarised in _Birds of a Feather._ Both those fics need some editing, btw, but they are readable.

The title is pretentious pirate time, from a lovely Raymond Carver poem.

Thank you for reading.


	30. Folk-Law, Robin, Sengoku, Is & Mtn time

**Where do Bad Folks go When they Die?**

 **Law, Robin, Shachi, Island Time**

* * *

"Nico-ya, get your fingers out of my pits," Law muffled into the towel on the headrest. "What's _wrong_ with you, woman?"

"Can't hear you over that cute cheeping, Law-kun."

Law clenched his hand into the padded material surrounding his face, and tried to not let out a squeak as one of Robin's devil fruit hands unfurled a finger right in the cave of his underarm.

 **oOo**

Torao would insist on Robin coming along.

Franky, kicking back in a garden chair in the corner of the garage, sipping some blue frothy thing Sanji had whipped up, was here for the show. It was Renew Law's Tatts day, and somehow at least half of Luffy's crew had decided to join the party. And who was responsible for that?

Not Shachi. He walked past, nodded Franky's way. The Heart pirate wondered if the whole of that crazy mob were there. What was the fascination with his captain? Had Robin sent out invitations like Zoro seemed to have done the day Law returned to sparring with him? Way back when? Way, way back.

Selecting ink and setting up his gear to the side, he walked over to where Law lay on the table. The doc had a whole clinic to do this in, and he decided it was somehow more comfortable in the – it had to be said – clean, not-used-for-cars, garage attached to his and Marco's house. Shachi guessed there _was_ reassurance in home only being a doorframe away, and the house itself was a bit crowded with all those tea-towels. Though he didn't mind admiring the ones that featured him, shirtless. Working out had really paid off.

"You gonna do that tapping into his skin with a nail and ink? Or some of that old time gangster wooden handle, metal needles, delicate silk shit?" Applying the sumi ink used for calligraphy.

Shachi wasn't sure if Franky was relishing the pain Law would undergo or asking out of an uncomfortable morbidity. His boss had more than enough bushido bullshit, but he was a medical practitioner too, and they were doing this the modern way.* Especially over scarred skin.

 **oOo**

"I think only Marco's allowed in there, Robin."

Law growled into the bed, gripping the material. She'd sent another hand to his other side. Shachi sterilised his tools. Why didn't boss use Room? Maybe he couldn't, undergoing whatever Robin was putting him through.

"Or Mercury," he turned back to the Strawhat. "But you know, she's a dog and can't help it. They've got a natural attraction to wet, smelly places."

" _Aarrgh_." It was a sound that would have made Aokiji proud. Robin didn't let up. Her extra hands scraped nails underside the sensitive skin, Law almost convulsing into the tattoo bed.

"Is the boss laughing?" Shachi wasn't sure what that sound meant.

Robin nodded. "I think it's hysteria." Shachi didn't crack a smile, taking it as fact. Robin better not get Law too riled up. Tense muscles were hell to work with.

"What's Marco's excuse?" she asked.

Law loosened one of his arms from under his chin and tried to get one of Robin's spare arms to stop, the conversation to stop, by thumping on the side of the mattress. This just squished one of the hands in further, and it tickled with renewed vigour.

The Strawhat and Heart looked on dispassionately. What was that gonna do?

"Kinky, I guess."

Franky smiled, looking up from his popular cyber-mechanics magazine. Yup. Law definitely had darker reasons for wanting Robin there. Lucky guy.

Law _had_ wanted Robin there, but didn't want to be the freakshow attraction. Weren't there more interesting things to do on a day off? Sanji and Marco were in the kitchen, Usopp, Chopper and Luffy hanging out with Mercury. Zoro, thankfully, was guaranteed to be late if he found their place at all. The rest obviously knew there was more to life than hanging out in their garage. The smart members of the crew.

Robin eased up, Law letting out a quiet groan once the nervous trills and chirps had left his body. Get a good night's rest. Eat a meal. Empty your bowels. All good advice for prepping for a tattoo. Don't get tickled. Don't invite Nico-ya. She still had a hand out. He felt it on his spine, walking down his vertebrae.

He turned his head her way and man did those eyes spark.

"Your hairs are cute, Law. I told you before."

"My toe hairs, not underarm, and you can praise me without torturing me."

"How were we to know you're ticklish?"

Robin sent her hands to Law's bare feet with some glee, while Shachi gauged whether he'd have to shave Law's back or not. It was tricky with the scars.

Robin ran fingers from the toes, with their cute hairs, right to the tips of the heels on both feet. There were ridges she hadn't noticed before, little kidney bean sized marks, and she'd seen Law in many states of almost dead across the years. How unobservant of her. No reaction. Not even a curl of a digit.

"Kept me barefoot. Whipped with rattan. They liked to play with them. Can't feel much in some areas." A recitation of the multiplication table had more inflection.

She drew back. Pulled her hands in. Used her actual hand to brush his hair from his face. The sparks had subsided. He drew his arms under his chin again. It was what it was. He didn't feel much about it nowadays. A tiny money spider scuttled across the floor. He closed his eyes.

"Who'd have thought that torture would prevent torture?" he murmured. And some were in the dark as to where he learnt his methods. Who was more nefarious? Doflamingo or the archaeologist?

She pulled at Law's ear. "Does it hurt?"

"Tch. You pulling my ear?"

She tugged harder. "No, your feet, Caliban."

Law shook his head, out of her hold. "Just fucked up the nerves. There's a shitload on the sole of the foot. It can be dangerous. I can't always feel what's going on. It's bad if the weather or conditions are too hot or cold, but mostly it's okay. I'll be in trouble if they dip me in a vat of boiling oil."

"They do that head first, don't they?"

"Yeah, maybe. Should be okay then. I'll react in enough time to get out of there then, do you think?" Or he'd be like the proverbial frog in gradually heated water, unaware it was being boiled to death until too late.

"Fool," she said softly.

Law's lazy grin. His eyes slits.

"My fruit healed anything that impeded walking, but it was too late for the nerve damage. It's mostly isolated to the arches."

That form of torture. A shiver ran through Law's body, and Shachi scratched his head at the sudden appearance of goose pimples. The body didn't adapt to a Vergo-led whipping, sent no endorphins flooding in to alleviate the pain of being caned on the sensitive area. The opposite. Feeling the area was under extreme threat, the brain increased the sense of pain, heightened the need to get away from it, the longer the _correction_ continued.

Diamante was the one best suited for the task of administrating a caning, but Vergo nearly always put his hand up. They talked the demon out of using his haki-enhanced staff once. The Family broke enough segments of his feet through usual practice, but that rod would have snapped them in two.

As for how they trussed him up when they administered it - - Sanji having a nosebleed had more dignity.

Trebol's foot fetish and Jora's wish to make a beauty pageant out of his nails saved him from extreme injury, but it was bad enough. If he didn't possess his particular fruit, he'd probably be in a wheelchair.

"Ahh." She sat on a chair beside bed. "That explains why you can't dance. What's your excuse for that godawful voice?"

"You don't want to know," Law laughed into the headrest, and Franky, from the corner, nodded. Story Time with Trafalgar made eating glass seem an attractive option. "But mostly," the Heart captain continued, "It's to let Phoenix shine some, y'know?" He turned his head, flashed her the Trafalgar pearly whites, as silver and gold-filled as they were.

She put her hand on the tattoo that was soon to be fixed, Kizaru's scars that would be inked in or over. Shachi shifted it out of the way, and began to clean Law down, to soap him up, and sterilise the area.

"Is that so? You think there's a chance you might overshadow him?"

"More of a chance that he'll be sucked into my shadow." Law returned his head to a face down position, eyes shut once more.

"So you have a goddamned awful voice in order to spread a bit of lightness in the world?"

He moved his head in agreement. "Kinda. Contains my darkness and let's his brightness rock on out. And you're one to talk. Piston rods on plate metal sound sweeter."

"Hmm." She'd tormented him enough for the day. "I'm glad you're getting it fixed, Law." It was about freaking time.

"It's better to ink scarred skin after time," Shachi said, drawing on his gloves and propping the picture of a smiling Corozan that Law had brought back with him in his line of vision, and the sketched out design. He'd done the original, so that part wasn't too hard.

Robin turned his way.

"It hurts more than unscarred skin – even after time – but especially soon after the injury. The nerve endings are damaged there too, like his feet, but probably not numbed. It hurts more for anyone, inking on any lesion, but Kizaru did a real number on him. We'll have to get the ink in pretty deep. Not sure it will take." He spoke to Law. "I'll try boss, but it can't help but be uneven in places."

"Unh." Law knew. They couldn't get rid of the admiral's handiwork. It would still lacerate the tattoo at various points. But they'd go some way to restoring the original. Marco knew him in this hell dipped and bent form anyway.

"You need a hand holding him down?"

"I've seen your skills in soothing the wild beast."

"I can be gentle."

"I'll call if I need you."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"I heard your sword fall to the ground. Well, I heard something. It was crazy in Dressrosa then. Issho and his damn rubble cloud. I was worried about the chimp."

Rather than the chump, Law mused, remembering Vergo's staff connecting with the back of his skull. So distracted after his meeting with Sengoku, wondering if he'd done wrong by Cora and how to do right, that he hadn't even sensed him. It was all meant to be over, after all, that step of the journey, the battles of Green Bit and Dressrosa. Punk Hazard.

"Roronoa-ya picked her up."

"They didn't take it?" Sengoku recalled that Kuzan said it was difficult to carry, maybe it was too strong for Vergo. Apparently Doflamingo handled the nodachi with ease, when it was sheathed at least.

"Less chance of me using it." He thought of Vergo sliced up like rashers on a plate – or maybe that was on the side of his face – at Punk Hazard. Or possibly he was confusing it with the executive's concerns about breakfast. The last and only time Law had the upper hand against that prick. _Ja na_ , Pirate Vergo. Talk about eating his words.

"The reports after your arrest said they'd scoured the mansion."

"She's cursed, anyway. Not much use to anyone who doesn't have better luck."

Sengoku glanced over. Law had removed his hat in the strong mountain breezes, secured it in his knapsack. His hair flapped about in the wind. "You're lucky?"

Law let out a low sound. "Yeah, well, I'm still here. That's luck of sorts."

For Law, it was. At this stage of his life.

They sat on a ledge jutting out over the clear blue waters twisting below. Sengoku chomped away as always. Birds, circling for rats or reptiles, eyed the crumbs picked up on the wind and falling below, with disdain. Bleat grazed a little too close to the edge, but if she wasn't worried, neither was Law.

Sengoku could have changed form and flown himself up here, and Law teleported, holding the goat, but neither of them were going to keep their physiques that way. So, with quivering calves, and thigh muscles guaranteed to upbraid them in the morning, they took in the view.

That rubble cloud. Law hadn't had the time to process it, but it provided a handy cover for the Don Quixote crew.

The admirals were admirals for a reason, and as for fleet admirals —. He'd glimpsed Sengoku in battle from the images that filtered through the video feed to those sitting around in Sabaody while Marineford raged. The Golden Buddha was frightening. Law was glad he'd retired before he personally got on his bad side. He sat beside him now, a cranky old man grooming his beard. It was hard to imagine.

Admirals, Kizaru and Aokiji, had targeted Law when the Hearts fled Marineford, Luffy on board. Sengoku was a general part of that, but hadn't personally fired anything at the sub. At Dressrosa too. The top brass was there.

If Fujitora _had_ stayed out of it, Law might have had a better chance against Doflamingo. But Fujitora _was_ there due to the information Law had fed Smoker. No-one knew about the Heavenly demon actually being one of those heavenly steaming piles of shit until the big reveal; until Sanji's frantic phone call, Law having to think up another plan on the spot. Entertain Doflamingo, yet again, with fighting and fleeing. At least no fucking was involved. At that stage.

Fujitora. Flaming meteors and crushing gravity and floating marine battleships. Really. Not to be sneezed at of course, though Zoro no doubt could break that hold with a sneeze, but just another thing to add to the list of things to think about when taking on his former _master_. He'd discovered that Fujitora had elevated Doflamingo, Doflamingo gripping Law's nodachi and slack body, up to the castle after Joker had pumped him full of lead the first time. He'd left him in that castle, chained to that travesty of a chair.

The Heart captain learnt the very hard way that Akainu held a grudge against him, and that Kizaru's form of justice had nothing to do with being just where Law was concerned. He wasn't sure that he'd have been any safer if Sengoku _had_ arrested him at Dressrosa – as idly threatened – any safer if Fujitora had run him in. Under Sengoku's or Smoker's direct custody he might have been fine, but if they shipped him off to Impel Down, or another outpost, he wouldn't have fared much better than he had over the two years.

Even before the marines got him, he'd seen what they could do.

Left with someone weak, there'd be less likelihood of injury and more opportunities to escape, even with the impediment of seastone, but weak men were cruel when they figured they'd cornered a beast. A Largha seal out of the ocean was just a blob of butter. Anyway, it was all water under that very long bridge.

.

Law knew that if he'd run across Sengoku in full uniform when he was ten there was no way he'd even set a foot toward him. It took all his will to approach Vergo when he was thirteen, and that had been the wrong decision. But it was because he knew Cora was a marine and Cora knew not all doctors were bastards that Law began to limit his hate to circumstance and not to people.

He didn't regain that perspective until he was able to make his own way as a young adult, a young man; when he learnt to just generally hate people – it didn't matter which side of the line they stood on. A slightly more nuanced take than his ten-year-old, grenade-wearing, self. But if the government hadn't hidden its persecution in announcements that eased the sting of conscience on the ignorant, but not on the body of the fallen, fewer of the unwashed, the unheard would have risen up.

"I approved the annihilation of Ohara, but the direct orders didn't come from me."

He was here for answers. Kikoku rested to the side of Law. He'd drawn his knees close to his body for comfort against the chill air.

"I was aware of Flevance. We felt that royalty had to be maintained. Or royalty insisted it had to be maintained. We'd always been taught it was above question."

Profit had to be maintained.

"We kept your parents' research."

Law's head shot up.

"They were onto something. We used some of their ideas in other developments." Sengoku scratched at the lichen on the rock.

"Good or bad?" Law had turned back to himself and asked into his knees. Band on wrist. This man would have arrested him. Thought Cora might have wasted his life for him. Thought nothing of wasting his parents' life but keeping their work.

Sengoku shrugged. "The Gorosei were the ones who determined how information was disseminated and used."

Who among them was the doctor, the scientist? The researchers must have reported back to them. Vegapunk? Using his parents' knowledge. Maybe that knowledge was used by others, against him even, at Punk Hazard?

"We had a just system, and some sacrifices were made for the whole. To maintain order. I believed that at the time."

Law looked at Bleat, roaming from one outcrop to the next. She saw the good in the man. "Yet Saul left. Aokiji left."

"I left." Sengoku tightened his plaited beard. "The pain and power Kaidou or Blackbeard inflicted proves that we weren't entirely wrong. Protecting the world from destructive weapons is a good aim."

He spoke to the high altitude, and the clouds, and raptors flitting in and out of his sight, but knew Law listened closely."But denying people the right to seek knowledge, and keeping them in the dark, I don't think it's the best philosophy."

"Now?" Only a few hundred populations too late.

"After Marineford." Remorse, it could cripple a man, and he intended on keeping his gait even. "I was angry and upset about Roci."

"But you ordered Buster Calls and invasions before that." It wasn't a question.

"Operatives move in the dark. Rocinante was one of our best assassins, when he wasn't tripping over his feet."

Law's benefactor had killed others. It was a marine's duty, a pirate's role.

"You sent Vergo to Swallow Island."

"I did and Roci shouldn't have gone to Minion. He went because of you. He lied to me."

It never failed to bayonet Law, followed by a prickle of anger. He didn't touch Kikoku. It might be fatal. "I brought a marine to save his life."

"And Vergo ended it. Indirectly. I know." The birds were like the breeze itself. Sengoku shifted his gaze from them to the pirate. "What if you were the boy rescued that day, Law?"

Law closed his eyes for a second, remembering not only Vergo's fists, but hearing the sickening crunch of bone, the air expelled from Cora's body as the executives beat his wounded body for his betrayal. Law not being able to do a single thing. Did Lamie feel the same terror, trapped behind the closet door?

"Chance would be a fine thing. Drake turned on you anyway."

Sengoku admitted the probability of Law fitting in was low.

"I killed Ace. Wiped out Nico Robin's hometown and family. Probably your family and friends. Depending on your perspective."

But saved Cora.

"We suspected, but didn't know for certain, that Doflamingo had killed Rocinante. We needed to think about the safety of the world – the larger population – and the shichibukai system kept things in balance."

"The safety of a few, don't you mean? It brought in revenue." Law's jaw tightened, he audibly popped the joint.

"That too."

Sengoku picked at his teeth. What could he do now? Look after Bleat and share what he knew with those he thought should know.

"If you see the Buddha, Law, kill him." The government and its veneer of safety was as false. Along with pirates and their addiction to freedom. There was a middle ground somewhere.

Law had no hat to hide under. "You don't want to die, old man."

Sengoku shook his head. He dug out a photo from his shirt pocket, slightly different from the one he'd already given Law years before of Rocinante in undercover gear, before he went on his mission. Bleat wandered over, and Sengoku put a hand on her neck so she didn't chew the paper.

"Pirate."

Law looked across at Sengoku holding something out. He stood, bending to retrieve Kikoku, hoping she'd behave. He couldn't risk one of the birds carrying her off. He sat beside the ex-admiral.

That goofy smile, with all his teeth. Roci flashed the peace symbol for the photo and wore the maroon cap with the long tassels and the heart shirt. The snap was bordered in white, a little ripped and tattered around the edges from wear, the image itself a faded peach haze from exposure. Rocinante's official photos were of a serious boy. Sengoku wouldn't dwell on it, but part of him suspected that he enjoyed flaunting and flouting the edgier side of fashion.

"Get the tattoo fixed. Let Rocinante's imprint be your legacy, not Borsalino's. It's seen you through, hasn't it?" He recalled the Law at Dressrosa so adamantly stating that he'd lived because Sengoku's son hadn't, even if he died in the process of honouring that life, of avenging that death. He'd stated that Roci had given him his life and spirit back.

"Over and over."

"I guess not all tattoos are bad."

Fix that one. Neglected for so long. Sengoku was a killer, but so was Law, and when it came down to it maybe all that separated them was intent. A life once gone was a life gone.

* * *

 **A/N: *** I have no clue whether Oda has any of his characters tatted by traditional Japanese irezumi methods. Probably. Sakazuki for sure, and it would fit in with Law's personality, but so would going the modern route.

So - the story still has some story to tell. Sorry if some of it is repeated throughout. Tales are fortified, I think, and from different viewpoints, but I am hoping it's not repeated.

 **Thanks for reading**.


	31. Ain't saying you ain't pretty-Law, Marco

**Chapter thirty-one: I Ain't Saying you Ain't Pretty, All I'm Saying's I Ain't Ready**

 **Law, Marco, Shachi, Island Time**

* * *

Watching Law get his tattoos done was as interesting as watching paint dry. Most of the Strawhats wandered back to their islands, down to the cafe, even down to Law and Marco's bar, currently staffed by Sarah. Luffy, hyperactive bundle that he was, wasn't allowed anywhere near the garage anyway. What a nightmare if he decided to wrap himself around Law. And Chopper was sanctimonious enough as it was with passing his opinion on the unusual studio, never mind that Law and Shachi were both medical professionals. Or medical renegades. Medical, anyway.

"All right?' Robin leaned down, standing near the bed. Their conversation going the way of prunes some time ago.

"Yeah." Law, sleepy, felt the towel around his mouth wet with dribble. Maybe his tatts were menacing, but he wasn't when work was being done on them.

"I'm gonna head."

Law faced her. She smiled at the red marks.

"Okay. Cheers for coming, huh? And take that cyborg with you."

" _Superr_ ," Franky thought, and also congratulated himself on his restraint in not voicing it. He owed Law-bro.

Robin glanced across at Franky trying to be cool, rereading the magazine he'd flicked through a hundred times. She turned back to Law. "Will do. Sorry about your feet, hmm? Maybe they'll bind them next time and it'll be less bothersome."

She was proud of him. He hadn't dipped. But she'd been there, just in case he did.

Law couldn't shrug without warning Shachi, so he grunted. She kissed the top of his head and nipped an elbow with her fingers in farewell.

oOo

Shachi focused on his work, using different sized needles for various shadings, but Law and he had a system. He'd fallen asleep there for a while, and that was great. He rested one arm by the side of his body, the side away from Shachi's work, the other under his chin. Shachi swabbed at some newly applied ink when he sensed movement out the corner of his eye. Law's fingers. He double-checked. Yeah. There they went again.

"Hold on, Captain." He knew Law heard him. He felt the muscles tensing. He had to cap and seal, which only took a few minutes, but still took time. He stood, and touched his now gloveless hand to Law's shoulder. "Back in a few. Breathe, huh?"

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

You'd think the boss was relaxed but there was a deeper layer of relief that hit the room when either Penguin or Marco entered. Not freedom from anxiety, but a deep-rooted recognition. Slightly different for each, and from that with Robin. Marco's sandals slapped across the concrete floor. He wore his old man's vest-singlet, and his usual cut offs. He pulled the chair closer to Law, and sat down. He'd come out of the shower, newly washed and shaved, the smell of soap still obvious.

Shachi needed a break. He wouldn't mind one of Sanji's drinks now, but not while he was working. And the chef had cleared out with the rest of the Strawhats. However, there was plenty of juice and water around.

He cleaned his workspace a little. He was detailing some of the most damaged of skin and didn't know how well Law knew his own back, but there was something touching in Law's notice to Shachi, and Marco then taking position by the tattoo bed.

When they'd caught up with the captain on the Red Force, finally having him returned, the Heart crew subjected him to a medical. Aside from Kizaru's calling card, there'd been historical damage on his spine. Shachi was careful with his tools, not gripping them too tightly. He had to keep himself calm now so he didn't spill into rage.

The injury was quite severe. They hadn't noticed the older injuries at first. They'd been concentrating so much on the immediate harm, trying to get past Law's defences and shock. Shachi had done this design the first time around too. They'd been shading in Flevance then. The ink and lesions obscured more than a few white marks.

Law freed his hand from under his chin. It must have fallen asleep by now. He let it rest along the other side of his body. He turned his head and faced Marco, and stretched out the inked hand he'd used to signal Shachi (no fat there, it had been painful). Marco took it in his own. Shachi totally missed the communication but a blue aura lit the point of conjunction – Marco's flickers and a small Room blanketing their fingers.

They maintained it for just a moment, not losing eye contact, and Law's body lost the tension that had been edging below his skin. His exhalation was grounded, audible. He returned, facedown, to the headrest, lifting the arm that would obstruct Shachi's way otherwise, tucking it under his chin. Marco, disentangled their hands but kept casual contact. He stood and leant over Law's shoulder

Law wasn't using his power. Very few felt energized undergoing the needle. Maybe that rooster, Bartolomeo, if he was getting something in Luffy's likeness, but Law wasn't Bartolomeo, so he was, understandably, naturally drained.

"Blue, Law," Marco breathed down, warm air skating the captain's neck.

"Peacock, ocean, sky, Purkinje, Glaucus atlanticus," Law murmured. Almost automatically.

Shachi looked on with some interest at the dynamics of these two.

"Purkinje, but no Phoenix?"

Law blatted his hand out again and accidentally ended up swatting Marco's arse.

"As much as I'd love to, Nana, you'd ruin Shachi's good work."

"Heh."

"Glaucus at-lanti-what?" Marco's palm fit at the back of Law's neck and massaged the muscles, tight from lying down for so long.

"Uhnng." It felt good. "Blue sea slug."

"Also over the Phoenix?"

Shachi smiled. He was surprised Law hadn't named the chimaera, the deep sea ghost shark. He'd been fond of those when they submerged.

"Purru - ? Are you trying to describe your favourite Den-Den? Which has the features of a Phoenix, right?"

"Don't make him laugh too much, Marco. Still got some work to do." Even Law's scratch of a reaction could affect the muscles.

Marco glanced over. Acknowledged Shachi's words with a nod, and turned back to Law.

"Purkinje effect. Our eyes see things differently in different lights, times of the day. Y'know, some points of the day roses are bluer than at others."

"I see. Roses are blue?"

"Just like Phoenixes. You might not be blue at all." Law's words were muffled by the headrest, and the hours spent lying down. "Just a trick of the light."

"Only when I've got my flames up."

"That myelin might have had a longer lasting effect than I anticipated. Maybe everything's blue nowadays."

Marco looked back to Shachi quickly. "Has he been hallucinating?"

"Nah, that's just captain being the captain. You're the one who brought up blue."

And so he had. It was their thing. His hand trailed away from Law's neck and sat on the fronds of the tattoo that crept over his shoulders. "You chose those showy peacocks over a phoenix?"

Where Law's hand rested, which still happened to be Marco's arse, he gave a little squeeze.

"Insatiable you are, Nana." And Shachi knew that most of what went between them was rooted in time and practice, and unspoken, but it worked. Law's arm returned to the bed, and Marco's voice was for Law only, but Shachi couldn't help but overhear.

"Okay?"

It was a safe place with good friends. Sometimes Law just needed to remind himself of it. He swallowed. He'd need to get up and have a wander around soon too.

"Thanks, Phoenix."

"Now you acknowledge I exist?"

"You never cease existing, Marco."

Marco dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out the gauze pouch. He took the hand resting on the bed and folded Law's fingers around it.

"The agate?"

"Mmm, gotta head down to work."

"Tie it?"

Sure thing. If Law fell asleep he wouldn't lose it. Marco tied the threads around his partner's wrist and curled his fingers around the pouch again.

"The basalt's in there too."

"Good. Ace and Luffy should get on like a house on fire." Literally. Law's fingertips welcomed the gauze, the cool form of the stones beneath it.

"I brought it back for you, Law. It's from me to you."

"Thanks, Charlie. I know." He kept it with the other curios, after all.

Marco pulled at Law's hair lightly, and placed his lips just on the tip of his ear. "You've got this, babe."

"Fuck da police," Law intoned.

Marco looked over at Shachi again. No images, mirages? Had Shachi given Law a painkiller that sent him to another plane? He had enough night-ghosts without them populating his waking hours.

Shachi shook his head. "Just sleepy."

Marco straightened, a hand still on Law's shoulder.

"Gotta go down to the bar in a few, Shachi. But get me if you need to."

Shachi mock saluted with two fingers.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Shachi sterilized his hands and pulled on his gloves once Marco had left the room. "Okay, boss?"

Law lifted his pinky. Full steam ahead. But then he lifted another finger, Shachi paused.

"Feet are cold, Shach." He turned his head to the side. The taste of that towel was bringing back some unwanted memories.

"Thought you couldn't feel them."

"Parts of them."

Shachi ran a hand along the soles of Law's feet. They were colder than the rest of him. He pulled a small lap blanket from his supplies. He slipped it under Law's feet and folded it around them, tucking in his tootsies, ankles and shins to the point of his trouser hem. His hand rested on Law's sacrum, away from the work he was doing.

Shachi spread his fingers. The older damage seemed to be gone. Law, Marco, Chopper had worked hard to return him to optimum health. The Heart crew too.

"Everything else okay?"

"Peachy." Law now had both hands under his chin, a position not maintainable for too long. The gems were close by, and he'd only needed a moment with Marco. Shachi might convert the bed to a chair soon, and get him to straddle it, just to give his muscles a break, a new position.

"It's looking good boss, we'll soon have you back, right as rain."

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you** for reading.

Bepo hung out with Law this night, but Shachi warned that he wasn't allow to hug Law, Law couldn't rest his back on him, and if he got fur in that tattoo there'd be hell to pay.

Law's head/hair gets kissed a lot in this fic, in case you didn't notice. I shouldn't bring it to your notice ;-) Something tender about it to me. Hopefully he keeps it clean.


	32. St Clemens - Law, Marco, Robin, Luffy

**Chapter thirty-two: The Bells of Saint Clement's**

 **Law/Marco, Law & Robin, Law & Luffy, Island Time**

* * *

Law wiped his face with his t-shirt, then bundled it up and wiped down his chest. Still catching his breath, he put it on the bench to the side of Marco. The soil had the loose dryness of the more arid seasons, and buffalo grass pushed up against the seat's legs. He'd lost to Zoro, of course, a given. It was still a good work-out, something they did regularly.

Law's drawstrings were easy around his hips, muscles tapering. Marco stood and tugged at the cloth. "You're gonna lose these out there one of these days, Nana."

As if _that_ would be any great hardship for Marco.

Marco's hands hooked into the waistband. The material was soaked, and below it, Law still slippery despite his impromptu towel down.

The Heart spat to the side, away from Marco and accepted that the Phoenix's lips were going to take away some more of his sorely needed breath.

"You got that whole capoeira thing going on even with that fucking long sword." Law's wet hair, sides of his face, were cradled in Marco's hands. He leant in and took Law's open mouth in his own, the sensitive skin a thousand times more responsive after all the exertion. Law didn't feel grounded but that wasn't necessarily negative. He met him. He didn't react, but didn't reject, until he needed to nip Marco's lip to negotiate air.

His lover pulled away and Law wiped the back of his wet hand over his lips. Not out of dislike. Just in an effort to slow his body. Public displays of affection beyond casual, intimate touch weren't really his thing. He held a hand to Marco's wrist.

"I mostly need a Room for that." It wasn't lost on him that it was a discipline and movement created by slaves for greater agency, nor that so many of his crew were competent at hand to hand fighting. Though they liked their blades too.

"But Room can't make you somersault." Watching those two spar was magic. Sometimes all animosity and machismo was put aside, and they just glided through combat. The cauterization of nerve-endings on Law's feet meant he was almost fearless when the meter and measure of attack infused him. Ever since he'd reclaimed his own shadow and breath after the Kid attack, and Marco's own, these two fought barefoot.

Just as well his power could reattach a severed limb pretty quickly. Not that it had ever come to that. Going barefoot was something to do with a little known fighting style from the south, and also a tradition from Zoro's own past. Marco saw the two weft and weave more than most. Luffy got too excited and always wanted to join in, and was usually barred from practice.

"Nah, Room can't help me with somersaults, but helps reassemble me when I pull a hernia like Old Man Garp. Except that guy probably never would."

Marco smiled.

"I don't look real sexy in a medical girdle."

Don't fall in love with a doctor. His fingers lightly ran over the gold in Law's ears. The silver in his hair not noticeable under the perspiration.

"Why don't we spar?"

"Working out'd be good. Different skills." Law wanted to try his hand against Vista sometime. He knew he'd never match his ability either, but he could warm up with Law and then really test his skills against Zoro.

Doflamingo's statement that his swordsmanship was incomparable was flattery and designed to fuck with his confidence in the face of Vergo's bamboo staff and full body armament. Combined with the ope-ope fruit and Law's own haki, Kikoku had defeated Vergo, but Law knew he was above average, not incomparable. Not an exemplar. Pica hadn't met Zoro at that stage.

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Penguin and Zoro crossed the yard, the coloured cloths blowing in the wind nearby the two commanders. Penguin carried Kikoku. Zoro admired the relation Law's crew had with the nodachi. She was mean, though he could hold her. He'd crossed Law, but also helped him, and had looked after her for the two years Law wasn't with them. Polishing, powdering, sharpening, taking care of her. Maybe he should have just oiled Kikoku and wrapped her in a soft cloth, or left the sword with the Hearts. They knew what to do. But a certain edge pulsed from her that probably needed a strong haki to avoid, to avert.

They'd seen Vergo in full haki form, and Smoker had described the concrete rupture when his bamboo staff merely tapped the floor. Smoker let it slip he'd thought Law was done for, but was more bitter there was a monster in the marine ranks. He hadn't suspected. No-one had. Law expressed no surprise though.

The shitty surgeon and Kikoku had beaten that, and Law would never forgive the Strawhats if something happened to his crew due to mishandling the nodachi when it could have been avoided. So he took care of her.

Even so, Penguin carried the nodachi with ease.

Penguin looked across the yard to his friend with Marco. The back tattoo looked great. Shachi's work was always good. Marco's arms obscured the design a bit, but he released his hold and Law used a towel on the bench to wipe himself further, running it up his neck, pausing to sip water.

Law had described to him, just when they were just gaining a toehold into adulthood, how Cora had lost a tooth and the reasons why weren't the reasons he wanted to remember him by, but Cora's smile was his last living image of the man. So the piano key grin was a little lighter in some points and a little darker at others, but Kizaru could not cancel it, no matter how many times he slammed the metaphorical piano lid on Law's fingers.

Law's front tattoos topped his shoulders and those curves had never been too badly affected, working more so in the past as pointers toward the defacement.

Shachi had coloured Law's back in contrasting yet complementing shades of black, an almost dark purple sheen to some sections. It was nice to have Law's benefactor look out at them again. The tattoo kept its strong image, shape and intention, but, just as Cora would have faded with age, it would wear. Gracefully, unlike Cora but like Law, fate willing.

Marco pulled Law back toward him, fingers walking up his back. They traced the areas that covered the scars that still textured the skin. The Phoenix obviously knew them well. Hopefully his touch was vinegar to Kizaru's sting.

The marks were almost a corona of light streaking through the six-pronged Jolly Roger, if you looked closely. Shachi had suggested highlighting the rays with white, but Law nixed the idea.

Zoro had no ink, but Penguin added to his own throughout the years, and Shachi had coloured a lot of their crew — whether to hide slave brands, or for personal reflection.

He remembered the boy he'd run away with all those years ago, and how they'd found love, physically and as friends. It evolved into a loyalty and support that would see them through a thousand disrupted tattoos, though there was little chance of that happening now. Not for shitty reasons of power play and spite anyway.

The leaves around Penguin and Zoro rustled and the earth kicked up dust. Zoro groaned, and Penguin didn't know why. Luffy's arms shot out of nowhere, wrapped around their midriffs and retracted, pulling the two of them to the back of the house faster than either Penguin or Zoro would have liked, particularly while Penguin was holding the nodachi. Zoro, more used to this kind of treatment and, wearing his swords like a second skin, was a little more composed. A little. Even so, they all clattered into the outside wall of the house, Mercury yipping.

Zoro berated Luffy. Luffy ignored Zoro. Penguin brushed himself down, and handed Kikoku to Bepo.

Sanji stood by the barbeque, and the woodfired oven was ready to go. Law and Marco didn't use it that often. Too busy, strange hours, one man's abhorrence of pizza and not having too many dead bodies to get rid of in peace time. But, Shanks was joining them, and Benn. And Sanji was a man who made use of whatever was available. It was criminal that the oven wasn't fired up more often. Shanks loved Marinara pizza.

The Heart and Phoenix walked toward the group, Law pulling his t-shirt on, the only piece of clothing not sodden, though it had sopped up his sweat from the wipe-down. He walked toward the back door, where he brushed his bare feet, the corresponding tattoos on his hands sweeping over the designs on the bridge. From near the grill, Vista held a bottle of beer Marco's way. The Phoenix ambled over.

.

"…warning…"

"Wanted to see you."

"...making our way."

"...to see you now!"

"Zoro-ya," Law interrupted from the doorstep. Roronoa was never going to win with Luffy, "Mind if I wash down first?" Zoro waved a hand at him without turning around. He'd given Law a work-out, and raised a sweat too, but not to the same degree. Plus, it was kinda manly being all perspire-y and shit. The swordsman opened his mouth to complain to Luffy about Luffy, when the pirate king placed an open beer in his hand. Zoro's lips promptly shut, then opened again to down it.

"Law!" Luffy was suddenly in his face. Seeing Zoro was taken care of, Luffy now squeezed Law with affection, making the surgeon a whole lot hotter than he had to be. Bepo growled when he saw Law's face shade.

"Sorry!" Luffy let go, and patted Law's cheeks. Bepo was fierce when it came to his captain. Law brushed his shoulder across his face.

It was busy being the pirate king, but Luffy wanted to catch up with Benn and Shanks, and then wanted to hear all about Sengoku. And apparently Aokiji had turned up on Law's travels. He wondered if his grandfather had been there. Law was in one piece, and no-one had reported he'd suddenly been punched into the briar patch, so he figured Garp hadn't been.

"Was Ushi a cow or a bull?" Basically Luffy was asking if the cow as in cattle was a female cow or a bull, but Law knew he picked the name because it rhymed with the Dressrosan pronunciation of Lucy. Man, he missed that disguise. It was one of his better efforts. Made him look quite debonair. He twirled an imaginary moustache.

Dropping his hand, he looked at Luffy and stepped into the main part of the house, gesturing for Luffy to follow. Luffy ditched his flip-flops. Law really did want to get into something dry.

"Bull. Does it matter?"

"They said you liked animals."

Law nodded. "And . . .?"

"You wanted to ditch Ushi."

"Survival instinct."

"I'm glad Doflamingo didn't get him."

"His string-clone."

"Glad he didn't get you."

"I'm kinda happy about that too."

Law walked through the house to the kitchen, bare feet across the hardwood, and opened the fridge. He pulled out a soft drink, twisted the lid and gave it to Luffy. The Strawhat captain's eyes lit up at the sweetness. Law checked the supplies to see that he had enough for Chopper, and maybe Carrot if she dropped by.

"I didn't know, Law."

"What?"

"You made matchstick models."

That stopped him. He turned and looked at — nah, he still couldn't really call the pirate king a man, yet he wouldn't have had a relationship if Luffy hadn't had a certain kind of maturity — so, looked at the man in front of him. A major player in this slightly kinder world.

"Robin and Marco said you were obsessed."

"Did they?"

Law leant on the counter. It was covered with coats, food supplies, drinks, purses and bags. They'd have to keep an eye on Nami. He'd tidy up a bit after he'd showered, and Sanji would sort the refreshments soon enough. He'd give the cook a hand if he let him.

"Marco said you made the models for him."

Law nodded.

"He said he couldn't make head or tail of them."

Law smiled. "Genius is always misunderstood, Luffy." And expressions of love under-appreciated.

"Robin said you'd make the library of Ohara."

Oh yeah. He hadn't got around to that.

"And that that bundle of sticks in Mine's café is the Polar Tang."

"It is."

"Even though it's wood, Law, I don't think it would handle going under water."

"Yeah, it's symbolic."

Law and Luffy walked toward one of the rooms with tea-towels on display. Law hoped the younger man wasn't intending on stepping into the shower with him. For one thing, that would mean two weakened by water, and for the other, he wasn't sure that Zoro's easygoing nature was _that_ accepting.

"How about the cow?"

"Ushi – the bull?"

"Yeah. We had the head and tail of Ushi, and then those two guys."

"Jeet and Abdullah, yeah. You know, I'm glad Ushi helped us out, but I don't really like remembering too much, Luffy."

"We beat him."

"Jeet and Abdullah beat him. He would've drowned us. Or shot me again. Doffy was a bit trigger-happy that day." Another day in cuffs.

"At the end. We beat him at the end."

"You did. You did a good job, Luffy."

"And you."

Law focused on the towel that featured their three dogs, jumbled mess that it was.

"He almost killed me. More than once."

"But he didn't, and you slowed him down Law. More than once. I'm sorry he escaped." Luffy shook his head. "Marines."

"Amateurs."

"But, Ushi."

"The cow."

"Bull, Law. Let's get it right."

"What about him?"

"Well, no-one can make head or tail of your models and we were head and tail on Ushi, and Ushi really helped us out." And we were head and tails in love once, or was it head over heels? Same-same. It all hinged on a coin toss. But was it love? Or meeting and filling the loss each knew only too well at the time? It didn't matter. It had been good. And they were still friends. And Luffy only ever thought about it for a second at a time.

"So many helped us out." Law's personal vendetta which was going to be a very long-distance vendetta turned into a very popular and public vendetta.

"Yeah. But we never really remembered him, right?"

"I don't have a photo of Ushi, or a symbol near the _butsudan_ , so no. Ushi hasn't had much attention." Unlike the images they kept of Cora, Law's family, Ace, Whitebeard and other loved ones.

"Will you make a model?"

"Of Ushi?"

Luffy nodded.

"Can I commission a tea-towel instead? At least the peons might be able to recognise the image." Plus he could make it tacky as shit. Glitter Ushi. He felt the bull would approve. It was the Funk brothers who had led them astray after all, and Luffy and Law's theme was definitely one of survival.

"Law, you know I love these rooms, and they're beautiful. If there was some meat in here, I could look at these designs all day long. They're weird, like you."

"Mmm." Law felt a historical warmth at Luffy's compliment.

"But I'd like to display a matchstick model of Ushi in the governing chambers."

"Really?"

"Made by artist, surgeon, ex-warlord, pirate captain, swordsman, nakama, Law."

He'd accepted long ago that he was Luffy's nakama, in the way his own crew was his, but Luffy would never be his captain. "Even though I said to ditch the cow?"

"Bull, Law, get it right."

"Bull?"

Luffy had finished his drink in a few gulps, and left the can resting on the edge of an easel Law had set up. He scooped it up to place in the recycling later.

"Gotta start making amends somewhere, right? And you like animals," Luffy said.

"Fluffy things."

"They didn't treat him so well. You know how that is." Luffy held his ex-lover's wrist for a second. "His hide was all stripped and torn a bit like yours. Not very fluffy, a bit like you."

Law looked hurt.

"Except for your hat, Law! I forgot. That was always fluffy."

The Heart sighed and smiled at Luffy's lack of filter. He brushed his thumb over his goatee, lifted his eyebrows, and inclined his head minimally to indicate he'd do it.

" _Yosh_! And if you use toothpicks too, it'll be great for when I have to eat dinner at work."

"You're not going to use my art to clean your teeth."

Law really wanted a shower. He replaced the can on the easel and lifted his t-shirt, hoping Luffy would get the hint.

Luffy laughed in a way that showed that if he wanted to pick his teeth with the finished product, Law would have no say in it. At least he didn't pull that captain bullshit.

"I've got plenty of toothpicks to give you, Luffy. Let Law confuse the fuck out of the powers-that-be in peace," Sanji shouted from the kitchen, tchhing at the mess. Though Robin said he could make a candelabra – what was so difficult about a cow?

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"Bleat knew your mother."

People slept, shouted, jumped, snoozed, snored, yelled, chatted — Shanks had arrived with a bang, and Law and Robin sat under the trees where the movement of the plain-coloured tea-towels was hardly perceptible.

Law held her hand. One of the ones actually attached to her body. There were so few memories of her mother. Happy ones.

"Cora was friends, I didn't know. If he was here, he'd have been old enough when he knew her to be able to tell you more."

He had a pen, an envelope with the designs he'd thought of for Ushi on one side.

"He was seventeen when she died."

He turned the paper over and sketched out Cora's heart shirt, the one he died in.

"Is this design familiar? The hearts were red."

Robin paused, thinking about Professor Clover and Zadie and Hocha and others. So long ago. The scholars had gathered around – their strange, warm voices, the clap of their hands, their eyes bright with possibility, congratulating her and accepting her for her knowledge and talents, Devil's fruit or no. They recognised her as a near-peer once she'd gained the equivalent of her doctorate at such a young age.

Though they knew it was dangerous that she was fluent in the poneglyphs, her knowledge gained by stealth, they were still proud of her and worried for her. Nico Robin, capable of understanding the histories of the world, and someone who actually knew part of them.

"Rint?" The woman had a bust like a fortress, purple hair, and shocking clothes sense. She was kind and welcoming, and oh so clever. Research was every breathing moment, so she never thought about what to wear, just pulled on whatever she first came across in the wardrobe. Her favourite shirt was covered in hearts.

Law squeezed Robin's hand a little tighter, and she took the design from him with the other.

"Cora died in a shirt like this. It was his incognito outfit." Law smiled thinking that Cora could only be understated in that family by being outlandish. "He held the heart seat, so it was fitting." He tapped his knee, covered now in clean, fresh, loose fit trousers. "They chained her, of course, your Mum."

Robin drew a breath, but was all too aware of the practices of the World government.

"I'm sorry, Law. For all you had to go through."

"Mmm. Isn't that my line?"

They couldn't bring them back. None of them. They couldn't relieve the suffering of their loved ones. Only their own.

"You want me to leave out any details? I really don't know much." His hand was reassuring.

"Everything and anything. It's better to know." She handed the paper back. Yeah, that was how she remembered the pattern, the shirt style even.

"Right?" he said. Folded the paper one handed and slipped it in his pocket.

"I might cry."

"Go ahead." He used Shambles to bring across one of the towels to where they sat. It was a fairly new addition, so not too covered in dust and grime, and passed it to her in case she needed to wipe her eyes. Her smile wavered. Law took a breath.

"Apparently Cora and Bleat would visit Olvia, and she told Cora about Rint, about the shirt covered in hearts. She must have told him about the other Ohara scholars you've taught me about too.

"Sengoku, even though he was the one to send them all on the Buster Call, though not the one to call it in, wanted to believe that Cora — or Rocinante, as he calls him — chose the design he wore as a Don Quixote executive due to his remembrance of your mother's stories. He preferred to think that Cora wore hearts due to the scholars' wish to educate, rather than to his position as a main-player in a ruthless pirate family."

"Yet, Doflamingo lived and my mother died."

"Yeah." Law's parents too.

"Anything else?"

"He sent Cora to Ohara, but he didn't talk about it when he came back. Just smoked and set himself on fire more. Apparently he got on well with Saul."

"Aokiji say anything?"

"Not much. Thinks we should get married. But he admires Garp on one level for his dedication to duty."

Robin dipped her head with thanks at Law trying to lighten the situation and tried not to let her anger burn.

"But they're cynical?"

"More now. Absolute Justice seemed shot through with grey."

"Are they sorry?"

Good question. An honest apology would help.

"I don't know, Robin. Rueful, reflective and rude. You don't get to those levels without some hyper-egotistical drive."

"Like you?"

"Yeah. Coulda been." Law's smile was thin-lipped, but not cruel.

"Saul always told me I'd find people to protect me, and that when I did, to stay with them. Aokiji confirmed it. Both enabled my escape. Marines."

Law turned his hand, over and over, an observation of his tattoo, a practice for calling up a Room, a remembrance of an ache that dictated its use on the early days of sailing with the Red Force,.

"Maybe Smoker is my Aokiji. I beat him, there were plenty of opportunities after and before that to capture me. No words of advice, but his actions let me take down Vergo, and if we'd known more about Doflamingo, his actions would have guaranteed his arrest on Green Bit." Smoker had patched him up in the past.

"You fucked him."

Law tipped his neck back, vaguely uncomfortable. Who fucked who? But yeah, that was right too.

She removed her hand from his and patted him on the thigh. "You always pick the strangest bedfellows."

"I'm not sleeping with a cyborg."

Robin looked down to the party. "Neither am I."

Law gave her a look.

"Cora is your Saul."

He dropped the topic. "Yeah. He wanted me to be a doctor, like my parents. He couldn't guarantee my escape the first time, but he put his life into helping me survive. He let me love again. I didn't think I had the capacity."

Robin's shoulder pushed into Law's upper arm. If anyone had the capacity to love, it was the surgeon. You just had to know how to let him.

"Saul taught me to laugh." As they knew.

"And here you are."

After all you've gone through.

Law lifted his hand from Robin's and placed both his palms behind him. "You know that Marco doesn't like watching morticians at play?"

Robin's face creased. "Puzzling."

He brought his head closer to hers, and pressed their temples together. "To a long life, huh? We've already outlived our parents. Let's see if we can give Kureha, the admiral-marines, and those banditos a run for their money."

He looked back toward the house now at Shanks kicking up a ruckus, Benn and Izou talking flintlocks, and Marco helping out Sanji and Penguin with whatever they'd put in the oven.

"I hope it's not Bepo," Robin murmured.

"Yah, off limits."

She laughed and indicated they should rejoin the fray. Others would come over later, and some would leave earlier.

Luffy and Usopp walked across the yard from the slight dip at the back with a confused looking Zoro. They probably hadn't been able to rescue Law for two years because they'd put him in charge of the navigation. The two stood, leaving the tea-towel folded on the bench, and Law touched his lips to Robin's forehead.

"It's not enough, Robin, I know it never will be. But without that old man, I just wouldn't be here."

"I've got to thank the Pheasant for the same." Take with one hand, give with the other.

Nox, also known as Nyx, was the night before the dawn. At a certain point the blackness peeled away as things that could be seen and defined claimed the sky. Law's place was not among them. He understood the shadows. He'd lived among them for so long that he fathomed shades more than absolutes. Where would all the suns be without the shadow to define them? To recognise them?

Robin took his hand and he was wearing one of the long-sleeved Nehru shirts he whipped up, perfect for the climate. She knew, like Marco did, that designs were hidden in the hems of the wrists and shirt. It was a new top. She ran her thumb and forefinger over the pattern stitched into the sleeve. She looked up at him.

"Hearts?"

Rint hearts, and Cora hearts, she now learned. Nico Olvia hearts. Lacking the intricate swirls and smiling face that signified Law's own design.

Of course. What else?

He took her hand and placed it on the front panel of the material. Her painted, sculptured, sharpened nails grasped the material from either side, and brushed against his taut skin for a second.

Her eyes flicked up, and he kept her gaze, but they never took it further. She felt the motif he'd guided her to. Blobs. And hearts next to them. The front panel was full of hearts, and blobs.

"What do you think, Ohara?"

Professor Clover?

"Clovers? Shamrocks?"

"Nah."

"Your matchstick version of the Polar Tang?"

Law laughed, head tipping back.

"Spit it out, Flevance. The next genocide could be just around the corner." Robin held the shirt hem in two hands in a way similar to Marco when he explored the designs, running her thumb and forefinger against the cloth.

"I thought we'd left drastic levels of extermination behind, but bells."

"Cow bells? Cows called Clover?"

Law looked at her with a puzzled expression, but something clicked, and he realised she was still remembering the scholars.

"Well, while I agree you can never have too much cow bell, these ones belong to Bleat."

"Ah, Law." She slapped an open palm against his chest. "You pay homage in the weirdest fucking ways." She took his hand again and inspected the fingers with the D for DEATH. "You always put in the Will of D too, right? "

"Not always, but I did this time."

"For Saul?"

"For us all, except Teach."

She nodded. The people of Ohara, friends and residents, were forgotten.

"But especially for Saul. For Trafalgar D. Water Lamie and for my mother and father."

The people of Flevance too.

"Ah, thank you." She hugged him, and his head rested on hers. He smelt like the shower he'd had earlier. "Are there any goats along here?" Her hand ran up the cloth covering Law's spine.

Law glanced down to Marco with reassurance if he happened to glance up. No problem, he was cackling at one of Usopp's stories, and was used to his relationship with Robin.

"Not yet, but the old man's got them all over his shorts."

"Visible?"

"Yeah. He loves that cloven-hoofed jezebel."

* * *

 **A/N** : **Thanks for reading.** Zoro and Law's previous swords-bro chapter is in Teaspoons, Chapter four on AO3 _._ Read the warnings, though no warnings on that chapter.

We finish up in two chapters and one very small flippant epilogue.

I'm only hinting at Franky and Robin in here. I've never been that keen on the ship, but I like how YamatosSenpai writes them in _Deadhouse_ (check it out. It's in my bookmarks on AO3, and they also post to FFN).


	33. Cow over Moon, Law, Robin, Island Time

**Chapter** **thirty-three: The Cow Jumped Over the Moon**

 **Law, Robin, Island Time**

* * *

At the opening ceremony for the grand reveal of _Lucy and Ushi_ , the artist was nowhere to be found. That was fine by Luffy, as long as he had free range of the meat Sanji had grilled to celebrate and he could admire the chaos that Law had created from matchsticks and — yes — toothpicks. He sucked back saliva pooling under his tongue at the thought of all the meals he'd enjoy while looking at _and_ using the sculpture. It was pretty crazy. Nobody would notice a missing toothpick or two. He'd have to contact Jeet and Abdullah and find out just how Ushi was doing.

 **oOo**

Law and Robin sat in plush, buttoned, leather armchairs positioned around a low table — items for tea just to the side — in some meeting room Zoro had led them to and promptly forgotten the location of. It suited Law. Whoever knew if Kizaru or some other fucked up grunt would be at one of these ceremonies?

Fujitora walked by, a glimpse of his purple cloak gliding down the corridor, surprisingly light on his feet for such a heavy man. He waved _toodle-pip_ with a strange flutter of his fingers, using some kind of echolocation to pinpoint and press both Robin and Law a little into their seats. That was a feeling Law could add to the list of not wanting to remember. Robin ran a hand up her constricted throat as the fleet-admiral made his way to the ceremony, leaving their zone. She turned to Law.

"Your muscles'll relax in a second. It's his thing. Gravity."

.

Recognising the shock of black, (he'd seen the back of it on the pillow next to his own often enough in the past), now peppered through with grey, gradually easing into a shade _not_ incomparable to his own, the admiral marched in and gruffly rapped Law on the head and marched out again, chewing on an unlit cigar. The pirate seemed to be doing well. The small smile Law tried to hide let Robin know everything she needed to about his relationship with Smoker. Law was happy for Tashigi that Smoker might have quit smoking, or cut down severely, even if he still was just a shorter man in an impressive uniform.

.

Everyone except the pirate king and his green-haired aide seemed to know where they were. Tashigi entered the room and made a beeline for Kikoku, the sword resting against Law's armchair, her red threadwork filling the now vice-admiral's vision.

"You said I could once Sukie was born." Tashigi sat in the chair adjacent to Law's, leant toward the nodachi, barely acknowledging the two pirates.

Law laughed but tipped the hilt her way. "That was years ago, Tashigi-San, and I still don't think she wants to be contained in a coffin in your museum."

"Hmm. Display case"

"Fewer opportunities to kill me from there."

"Hmm."

"You know, there are plenty who are wisely content not to hear her lullabies." Kikoku was mildly curious under the tips of his fingers. That was positive, or could be very negative if she wanted to toy with the marine.

Tashigi only wrapped her fingers around the handgrip. They sat in a room of the governing quarters and Luffy had more than equal stake, but unsheathing the sword could bring Law attention he just didn't want. Or Zoro. Tashigi hadn't tried to requisition his meito for some time. Maybe she should try to bring him running. The odds that he'd find the room were slightly more favourable if swords were involved.

As she tuned in, Tashigi pushed her teeth together as a tactile buzz left her mildly nauseous. She took a breath and released her hand. "She's so sad, Law. What have you been doing to her?"

Law scratched at his ear. "Haven't let her kill anyone lately, especially marines. Gets her all bent out of shape when she can't blow off steam."

Robin's face was impassive behind her rounded tea cup.

"Tch." He was as bad as Roronoa. She swung one of the red tassels to and fro once. Highly disrespectful, but the demon sword was unranked. "Heard you saw the old man."

"And what did I do this morning?" Couldn't they talk about her daughter? Law had overseen the pregnancy but hadn't delivered the baby.

Tashigi started sifting through her notes. Law tensed, then released his irritation into resignation. "No, really. If the level of surveillance after Luffy's coronation is still that high, I'd rather not know."

"Oh," she coloured. "Was just looking for your schedule for today."

"Apologies." Law straightened Kikoku. Tashigi was drawn to the tatts on the backs of his hands almost as much as Kikoku's motifs. He batted Kikoku's tassels back and forth himself now. Highly disrespectful.

"Take care of her," Tashigi said, rising. Luckily she had her glasses on, so she bowed stiffly toward the blade — not the pirate — and left the room.

.

"You're the man of the moment, Law." Robin placed her tea cup on the table and poured herself another.

"Just waiting for Tsuru's old wrinkly self to come on through."

"Be careful what you wish for."

They'd helped him out in the past. He wouldn't mind seeing the tough old bird.

Bugles heralding the opening of the ceremony cut through the building.

"You don't want to go?" Robin enjoyed the delicate sweets, and the aromatic brew the welcoming committee had provided them with, and the seats were very comfortable. The bugles were quite attractive, from a distance, though they did startle the birdsong away.

"Huh." Law picked up his own tea, cupping the receptacle completely in the palm of one hand. They reminded him of the cups at Sengoku's. Maybe Garp had selected these too. "I don't really care about Ushi."

Robin frowned.

"Don't get me wrong." Law lifted a hand staving off judgement. "I'm pleased he saved us for part of our journey, and got us as far as he did." Law picked up his backpack from the floor and started digging around, silver band glinting. "But I guess I've paid my respects now and," he pulled a _furukoshi_ , its cloth folds covering something square, from his bag, "I've got something to show you."

Law was dressed up, as much as he ever dressed up. Luffy was pirate king. After taking on Big Mom, the Strawhat showed a little more attention to his appearance when there was a shindig, he'd quite fallen for the faux-Mafia look, but he didn't impose a strict dress code.

Robin felt Law preferred this meeting room witnessing his sharp, creased threads rather than being the centre of attention of Luffy's raggle-taggle ensemble. She also liked the sidelines. Law's patterned hands undoing the elegant, sparkling, midnight-blue cloth of the _furukoshi_ covering whatever he'd pulled from his bag, further juxtaposed against the grain of said beaten, worn, dusty knapsack, was the perfect contrast. He always struck the right balance. Nails done too.

"More cow bell?"

Law shook his head. He loosened the knot and the material fell away to reveal a wooden box, mahogany, about four centimetres by ten. Variegated leaves and bark etched the silver clasp – Shachi's work. Law popped it and pulled the lid open, lifting the box out of the _furukoshi_ and pushing the cloth to the side. A dark green velvet lined the small chest.

The carved knots and gnarls of a tree witnessing and containing centuries upon centuries of learning on the lid, its weeping foliage decorating the rims and outside panels, were Marco's work.

Law opened it fully and faced it toward Robin. It rested on the corner of the table so they could both see in. Match covers in varying shades lined the velvet in neat rows. Robin looked up at Law, and he nodded, so she picked one up. Lighter green than the velvet, its cover sported a shamrock. Professor Clover was embossed into the spine in gilt. She eased the cover open with the edge of a fingernail. Law had placed small papers inside — there were no matches. Rollie papers? One word was written, _Knowledge_.

Ah.

She looked over at the Heart pirate. He was still, his hands folded on his lap. She was okay.

She returned the cover to its notch, and picked up another with a silver-grey hue. The ocean on its choppier days graced its cover. She opened it. _Love_. Olvia Nico etched on the spine.

Ah, _Ahh_.

She looked over at Law again. He gazed out the window instead of noting her reaction, but she knew he had difficulty accepting credit for anything at times. Bashful. And he'd not forgive himself if he hurt her. She needed both her hands to open up the world in front of her, so she whispered a flowered incantation, and Law jumped to find one of the baby hands that accompanied the Den-Den when she called him latching to his pinky.

"That's fucking creepy, Nico-ya."

At least he was more interested in her now than the window frame. "I'm offering support."

Law took the tiny hand and tipped it into his palm and curled his fingers over it. Robin absorbed the warmth in her actual body, and a quiet smile curved her lips.

"It's all right, Law."

"The box?"

Robin nodded. She withdrew her fruit, and Law dropped his hand to his lap, a little disappointed to have the appendage and its closeness go.

She returned to the match covers in front of her. Rint's book was purple with a Cora heart in the middle and the book's page read _Acceptance_. A word of weight for her and Law both.

Busshiri, the scholar, had also been an explosives expert. From what she knew about Law, he was a dab hand in most of the killing arts, trained up in Doflamingo's family, but, like Busshiri, Robin hadn't seen him use all of his abilities. She might not have ever seen Busshiri use any of them. Parts of her childhood were crystal clear, but there was enough that faded into vague colours and gut punch memory. No strict delineation.

A cartoon explosive, fuse lit, featured on the cover of Busshiri's book. _Da bomb!_ was written inside. Law, observing now, groaned softly at himself. Robin didn't know why. He told the best Dad jokes. Considering he was a bit of a Dad, it came naturally.

She grinned. A sight that twisted the intestines of many a lesser man.

Hack, the Human - not the fishman, Zadie, Roche, Hocha, the archaeologists all had books. From what Law knew, Saul wasn't a great reader, but he obviously understood many things and his book was oversized in comparison to the others, and a little bit ragged; a sandy, rusty, brown. Robin opened it up to . . . .

" _Dereshishishi_." She hooked a strand of hair behind her ear.

That might bring Luffy running. Or Aokiji. Law watched her close Saul's volume and replace it.

"Where's yours?" She tilted her face her friend's way.

Law pointed to a match cover blending with the lining at the back of the box. He stretched his legs out, to the side of the table. He didn't wear a suit to Smoker's wedding, yet here he was all monkeyed up for the monkey. Wasn't sure what to make of that.

"I wasn't in Ohara, so I'm all furtive, like Raizo." Law hadn't been on Zou the first time they met the ninja, either, but his schoolboy fantasies were fulfilled when the alliances sailing with Shanks pulled into Wano a few times, and the huge warrior impressed him with his clone technique.

Scanning the sumptuous interior surface, she located the book (it took some time) and picked it up. The cover matched the green lining.

"Largha seal," Law said as she queried the print on the inside cover of the book. "Blubbery species of the North Blue."

She nodded. It appealed. A tiny paw was drawn on the first page.

"Bepo."

How did he have the dexterity to do that?

"Didn't know what to write." Law popped the button on his coat. Drew up his legs and hung them over the side of the chair, leaning back into the corner. He'd kicked off his shoes a while ago.

Robin picked up the one with her name on it, a flower on the cover. She'd been eight, but had acquired her fruit very early. Four pages.

 _Perseverance_.

 _Hope_.

 _Home_.

 _Family_.

Look at that pirate over there, all laidback and casual. As if she didn't know he was observing her every reaction.

.

A brilliant blue cover nestled into a corner.

"I wasn't sure about that one." It might seem Law was asleep if you didn't know better. "Don't have to keep it."

A feather graced the cover. Robin read the spine before opening it. Aokiji.

Page one: _Pragmatism_. But Aokiji was something more than that. Pragmatism — choosing to take what she could from him that wasn't harmful, allowing herself to thank him for the opportunities he had given her, acknowledging the ones he'd stripped away. Pragmatism. It had saved both her and the Heart captain's lives more than once as they fought their way through. Tattered, rough, scrappy runts they'd been.

"Law."

"Marco wouldn't let me write _weirdo_ or _terminarch_."

"Psycho."

"Nor that."

She closed the box, her library of Ohara, not made from matches but from matchbooks.

" _Family_ , Law. Write it into your book later."

"I'll have to call Leo back in from wherever he is." The dwarf had helped out with the stitching and some of the embossing.

She shot him a look.

He sat up straight under the scrutiny and leant forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. "Why is it that my inclusion in families that _haven't_ been wiped out is always via coercion?"

"Penguin? Shachi?"

"Bepo can be very persuasive."

"You love it." Robin ran a finger across Marco's carving.

And though Law didn't know that he could say he did, the families he had chosen as an adult were the families he wanted to keep.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you** for reading. The next chapter will finish up the fic, thirty-five will be a short epilogue. I know the last few chapters have featured a fair bit of Robin. The Phoenix will return soon.

This is post-canon and, in the _Repossession_ world, Fujitora gained the position of fleet admiral and everyone else got a promotion (the good guys). In this AU, Law was in captivity when the Strawhats sailed to Zou.

Smoker, Tashigi, and Tsuru's relationship with Law is interspersed in _Repossession_. Law's role in helping out Tashigi, and going slightly deeper into his connection with Smoker is part of _Birds of a Feather_.

What do you think of the library?


	34. Pat-a-cake, Law, Marco, Island time

**Chapter thirty-four: Pat-a-cake, Pat-a-cake, Baker's Man**

 **Law/Marco, Island Time**

* * *

Chopper was the first to notice just how fucked up the wrist was. Law had been in such bad shape when they'd got him, still bleeding and burning from Kizaru's lacerations, his face scraped and bruised, and his genitals and cavities horrendously torn and ruptured, that they didn't notice straight away the seemingly smaller afflictions. Smaller only on a scale from horrific to barely tolerable. He'd come to them hooded, barefoot and chained. It was hard to take it all in.

Chopper had cuddled into the surly captain his first morning on the ship after his escape, Law struggling to put a coherent sentence together, sitting on the infirmary bed, head tipped back against the wall the bed ran along. Chopper offered fluffy comfort. Law's stomach was yellow with bruising, so Chopper didn't embrace him too strongly.

At first he thought it had been shock and fatigue that had Law patting him so lightly, almost as an afterthought. It wasn't the hand with the nails burnt off. Maybe he was getting used to no longer having his wrists shackled.

They had so much to discuss after all, the least of which was his surprise relationship with Luffy, and all the warnings that had to come with that. Law was in no state to be penetrated and imagine Chopper's surprise when the surgeon well knew, and wanted no part of it either, nor the conversation. At that stage. Well, it was understandable.

Chopper was maybe lucky that Law was without his power, the seastone cuffs the marines had him in only just removed, and the chip still in place.

He looked up at Law and noted a tweak rippling his cheek as he patted him and realized the surgeon had just got used to pain.

"Wait."

Law's eyes opened.

Chopper cradled the hand that had been stroking him and inspected it. His eye ran up his wrist for a second. Those welts from the bands of his internment would never go away.

"Make a fist."

Law did, but it didn't close all the way. Again Chopper saw the spark of pain.

"What happened, Law? It's an old injury. When did you get it?"

Law looked almost surprised that it was brought up, recalling that there was a time when that hand didn't give him trouble. There was a fucking lot to process. His eyes flitted to Chopper, to the door, the window, back to his hand. They'd had him for so long. He didn't know what safety was yet.

"How many years have passed, Tony-ya, since they took me?"

"Two."

Law concentrated. He was free. "About a year old. I got this one about the same time as my 27th, if I was scratching the marks onto the underside of my desk correctly."

"Birthday?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"Fell on it, full body. Guess I fractured it or tore some ligaments. It doesn't always play up, but yeah, there's usually an ache." Vergo stepped on it too, if he remembered correctly.

"They wouldn't let you heal?"

"That might mean escape." He was grim-lipped. He touched the sickening metal in his ear. Its outside casing let fruit users handle him, but the inside had the slow release compound which had him feeling constantly nauseous, and which neutralised his power. He tipped his head back again for a beat. He liked to think letting it heal meant escape. That his powers and will would have somehow pulled him through. It seemed all his getaways in reality were dark, suffocating things.

"They might have let me fix it, or let me see a doctor, but I'd pissed them off the night before, so I was kicked into the furthest corner of the dog house for a very long time." He'd been surprised they hadn't thrown him back into the cell and chained him to the bars after he'd defaced Vergo's Den Den Mushi. Guessed the comfort of his bed held too much allure for them.

"We'll get the chip out, Law." Chopper's hoof was pressing against his chest. "You'll be right as rain."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

Robin sent an extra hand to help him tie the _teru teru bouzu_ to keep the rain away. Nami's Clima Tact was out of order while Usopp upgraded, so on a quiet afternoon the crew assembled the small cloth dolls, looking like ghosts, but symbolising monks, said to help bring about clear weather. He was a doctor and usually he was dexterous — no trouble at handling utensils at the dining room table at least — but she noted now and then he swapped hands when doing a particular task. Looked like that hand was a candidate for arthritis. She wandered over, calling in the extra appendages.

"How's the physio going?"

The chip had been removed for a short while, and the Thousand Sunny was making its way to the Red Force.

Day by day Law lost edges of the pinched resignation that confined him to a world of Doflamingo's making as he tried damn hard to reconnect with the Strawhats in his own way, but it took time. That tautness was as much to do with the pain that laced his body as with any mental strike.

"Chopper has his work cut out for him."

* * *

 **oOo**

* * *

Law's grip wasn't firm – not good for a captain – and Shanks detected no facial difference, but a sense of acridity spiked through the inked man in front of him as he shook his hand after boarding the Red Force. What the hell was that about?

* * *

 **oOo**

* * *

Law sat at the kitchen table, a rollie paper stuck to his lower lip, the lid to the tobacco tin popped open. Marco kissed him on the head.

"You smoke too much."

"Mmm." He packed and rolled his joint, set it to the side, and looked to Marco as he sat adjacent. Law had the newspaper opened in front of him, and a cup of coffee. Marco stretched his hand across the table and Law took it. Turned his attention to yesterday's news.

Marco pushed his other hand up Law's arm for a second, again pleased that the band wasn't seen so often. He didn't mind, it suited his man, but Law didn't always wear it for aesthetic reasons.

He turned Law's hand over, and Law looked up. It was the baby with stunted nails, and both wrists had the permanent embossment of the fetters. Not a casual morning of hand-holding then.

Working on Law's arm had also healed his hand. The hand had been less likely to cause trouble, or Law could push through the pain, but it was such a shitty reminder. Marco worked his fingers through Law's. He gripped Law's thumb tightly between his own thumb and forefinger, the nail and knuckle getting all the attention. A signal.

With a page of the paper set to turn, Law responded off-handedly. "Fifteen things? I'm okay, Marco."

Marco pressed harder on Law's nail, and the Heart glanced across.

"For me, babe. Need it." Marco faced Law.

Law nodded, eyes dropping, a bit chastised. Just because his trips away brought him some sort of closure didn't mean it was the same for Marco. His free hand dropped from the paper and he gave the Phoenix his attention.

"I'll start," Marco said, pushing their thumbs together at the tip, on the pads. "Regret."

Law looked uncomfortable, a small sigh escaping him, but stayed. Marco bet he wished he had that joint between his lips right now. "Loyalty, Betrayal, Respect."

Law pushed back at the pressure. "No regrets," he said. The fifth thing. Marco's closed lips turned upward.

Law pushed their forefingers together, thumbs still in contact. A dance of praying-mantis.

"Responsibility, Accountability."

"Rascality," Marco finished.

Law flashed him a smile. "Well, I was going for reliability, but—." Marco wrapped his spare hand around their joined palms, and brought the two pointers, pressed together, to his own lips. "Shhh," he whispered past them. "I know you think accounting is a sexy pastime."

Law let his hand, fingers, be, well, handled. "Someone's gotta do the books."

"Shh. Let me love your wildness, as well. Just a little." Marco's touch returned to the thumb. Law dipped his head, his neck cocked. "With respect, Law."

The grey eyes looked up and across, challenged him again. Permission. Love him for his wildness, but don't use it as an excuse. How long had Marco known him, and the pirate still doubted a person's reasons for love. All the time. But he tried. Really, if anyone had a right to question it was Law.

"Never seen an accountant so inked up as you."

Law's spare hand scratched at his chest, then flicked the back of his fingers across his goatee. "I'm a doctor."

"Nor a doctor."

"Also a pirate."

Marco laughed. That was more like it. Law's spiky hair was carefully cultivated. He lowered their hands to the table and pressed into the middle finger. Law returning the pressure.

"Reliability, Nurture," Marco said. Speaking of which, where was Mercury? They'd only managed to kill two of their dogs, but it looked like she was in for the long haul. And really, the death of the other two were from natural causes, not neglect.

"You don't want a drink?" Law took a sip of his coffee with his free hand, but kept Marco's gaze.

"Later."

Across the table, elbows on the hard wood, they steepled their fingers together, the pressure now on the ring finger. "Oddity—" Law began. "—Rarity," Marco finished.

"Freak?"

Marco shook his head. "Not in this kitchen. Not letting you have it. Where would perfection get us?" Mongrels always were healthier than the inbred. Law was the perfect freak. Marco preferred to focus on the value of diversity rather than depreciation.

The pinky, the strange little extra finger. Law fused their hands rather than let it carry all the weight, palm against palm, fingers threaded. "Grounded. Centred. Whole."

"Only one word for the fifteenth thing, Nana."

"They're hyphenated, a bit like if I put A in front of hole."

Wicked. Marco squeezed their hand to the point it would hurt if it went further.

Law doodled a finger from his free hand in moisture beading the side of his cup.

"Did we leave out laughter?"

"Your weird-arse humour got left behind somewhere."

"We'd be nothing without that."

"I was going to say, just as well."

"Hah." They rested their hands on the table, relaxed now. Law returned to his paper. Marco was happy to just lean back and take his partner's morning tousled randomness in his stride. Some mixed-up-jumble the both of them were, but he felt lucky.

"What do you want for your birthday, Law?"

"Tea towel." He didn't look up. He was reading Zoro's stats. "How 'bout you?" They were within a few days of one another.

"Same." Marco released their hands and sat back in his chair. "Plain one though. Not one of your travesties of taste."

Law grinned. "You forgot corrupter." He picked up the joint, preparing to go outside.

"I corrupted you into being the connoisseur of tea-towels?"

"Heh. Guess that was me that did that to you."

"Or Robin. If in doubt, always blame a Strawhat."

"Yeah, if in doubt, they're usually responsible." Though the catalyst for the collection had been Marco depositing the last teaspoon to have adorned Vergo's face into Law's lap.

But blaming a Strawhat was always a good rule of thumb.

 _Morpho aurora_ , _papilio ulysses_ , blue-ringed octopus, ghost shark, ocean depths, shallows, blue sea slug, splendid fairy wren, bird of paradise, feather, breath, clouds on ocean, horizon, lapis lazuli, Nox - the night before dawn.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for reading**. That about sums it up. I have an epilogue, but it's a little flippant. This is the resolution of the fic, I hope. No sexy times for Law and Marco. They do get together in the one shot, _Good Housekeeping_ , though. I think my non-sexy sex scenes tend to be better, though :-)

I am sure there are some glitches in the story. I set _Repossession_ a bit too far in the future, so it's hard to maintain the timeline. I hope that all the general time lines converged to one and that those who stuck with the fic could finally follow.

The scene with Robin and Chopper is expanded in the one-shot, _Weather Monks_ , which I'll transfer to FFN soon.

Anyway, have some happy-ish Law today. Rare pairs are hard, and mine does better than a lot, so I'm happy for that, though I wish other rare pair writers all the encouragement in the world.

Thanks again x


	35. Wee Willie Winkie, epilogue- island time

**Chapter 34 is the final chapter. This is an epilogue.**

* * *

 **Epilogue - Wee Willie Winkie, Epilogue**

 **Marco/Law, Shanks/Benn, Island Time**

* * *

"They think they're being subtle."

Law and Marco lay together on the recliner, Law all cat and languorous after a few beers and smokes, and despite how compact and toned he was, sometimes he felt as light as a feather. They couldn't lie here all night though. Well, they could, the stars were nice, but Law would probably fall to the floor at some stage and bitch and moan at Marco for not holding him tight enough.

Or he'd just go into a sulk.

Or he'd act like the mature man he was and realise it was a fucking stupid idea to fall asleep on a recliner, on top of your partner, when a king bed was often not enough room for the two of them. Not with how Law sometimes spread his arms out, and not if Kikoku or Mercury had decided to claim him. He even used Kikoku as a pillow sometimes. Granted, usually _not_ when Marco was home.

For now, though, it was fun. Marco's legs hadn't fallen asleep, and Law's head rose with his chest, which meant his feet well and truly hung over the edge of the recliner.

Drawers opening and slamming shut echoed through the house.

"You think they're looking for your pervy toys, Marco?"

Marco's arms were lazily slung over Law's back. "Robin gave them to me."

"Always blame a Strawhat."

"Heh."

Needless to say, Law didn't use them on himself but obliged Marco when he asked. He crossed his hands like paws and lowered his head onto them, tipping it to the side.

"Awfully quiet."

"You think they found the tea towels with the erotic Japanese bath scenes?" The reprinted woodblock _shunga_ images.

"Could have. Why don't we display those?"

"Chopper."

"Ah."

There went that evening bird with the cry that whipped through the air.

" _Fucckkk_!"

That didn't come from either one of them. Nor the bird.

"Wanna sleep in the spare room?" Law whispered. Marco ran his hand up the back of Law's neck. "I think Shanks and Benn have appropriated ours."

The Phoenix laughed, and tightened his embrace. "S'long as they don't walk in on us."

"Could be interesting."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

"Gotta say it does something for you Shanks," Benn lay back on the bed palming his cock like a Lucian Freud portrait given a special Jora treatment, though everything was proportional.

"No wonder Law calls all you admirers freaks." Shanks put his hand on his hip, assessing himself in the full length mirror. "It does nothing for my figure."

"But it makes you look all shy and demure as if you're just waiting to be bent over the bed, ravished and broken."

Shanks sent him a wild grin and flicked back his hair. "Is that so? And what does it do to you imagining Trafalgar in this flannel gown?"

Benn let out a deep moan.

"We never hurt him, Benn."

Benn bit down on his lip, but nodded. He knew he was big, but it didn't have to hurt.

"You think Marco makes him dress up in it?" Shanks, asked, trying to pop the granny frills to make the getup more enticing.

"Dunno. Doesn't look like it's had much use for a while, now c'm here."

Benn couldn't wait to run his hands along the cloth more than obscuring Shanks' slim hips.

"Sir." Shanks one-armed curtsied. He almost tripped on his way to the bed as he strode across the room. "Seriously. You like this better than the garters and corset?"

"Seriously. Let's get you some orthopedics to go with it rather than those stilettoes." Benn pulled Shanks towards him by the nightie's frill, and with one hand still on his cock, plunged his tongue into Shank's mouth as soon as his face was near.

Shanks put a bit of haki between them, and pulled back when he could, straddling Benn's thighs, the skirt ridden up. This damn thing was too warm. "I hope it's your captain taking hold of that libido." Though that was really up to Shanks.

"Think they'd go for a four way?"

"Mercury barely let us in here, and I still have flashbacks to losing my arm."

Benn laughed. "Yeah. He wouldn't go for it." Kikoku was still a common sight by Law's side.

"I'll get one custom made."

"Maybe Law will give you his."

"You know him. It's probably got his Jolly Roger embroidered in the hem. Imagine if Luffy found it."

* * *

 **oOOo**

* * *

The bed in the spare room was smaller, but larger than anything Marco and Law had shared on their ships. Both men lay close, but not joined. Law slept with his mouth open, small clicks of his throat and tongue trying to prevent pathways from drying out. Marco was used to the noise and it didn't disrupt his sleep. His own snoring was a mighty pronouncement, but even Mercury wasn't bothered by the senatorial outbursts. There was less work for her nowadays. She was getting on, and these two had kind of sorted their shit out. Even so, she twitched in her sleep and curled into herself a little more, chasing rabbits, trailing aeroplanes, vanquishing villains whenever she found them.

* * *

 **A/N** : **This is an epilogue. FFN stats show that chapter 34 isn't getting many hits. 34 is the chapter that ties up loose ends. This epilogue is a little throwaway, and _not_ the real conclusion to the story.**

All my author notes for this story are on the previous chapter. I hope none of you mind me putting Shanks into a nightie. I still don't know if Law wears it. I don't think so. I don't usually feminise my characters, but maybe we can imagine Brad Pitt in a dress in _Fight Club_ — except it's Shanks, and a very comfy nightie. I'll put Doflamingo in one next ;-)

And who knows? Perhaps I'm ahead of the curve and Wano will vindicate my unusual pairing. Hope we get to see some Law and Marco action at the least, but that's just speculation. :-)

Anyway, thanks for accompanying me along the pages of this story. All feedback is appreciated. I know it was hard going with the non-linear timeline, and all the prior knowledge that might have been needed, but thanks to anyone who read through.

* * *

 **Note: Dec 8, 2018** : The Vivre Cards have come out with Marco's height, and he's got 12cm on Law. When I started writing these two, a post on Oro Jackson had Marco at about 184 cm, which I prefer. I initially wrote Marco taller, and readjusted everything. Now, it seems I need to go the other way! BUT, I'll just leave author notes instead. It's always an AU anyway.


End file.
